


Reader's Special: 4th Edition One Shot Reward Story Collection

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Series: The Reader's Special Marathon [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring, Case Fic, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt, One Shot Collection, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 200,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of One Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons and pre-series, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby/and more. See each chapter for specific info for each one shot reward fic. Each chapter is a Stand-alone story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Jenjoremy

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Info: For Jenjoremy - A crossover with Grimm where the boys travel to Portland for a possible hunt, pose as agents and speak with Nick and a certain Blutbad during Grimm Season 1, any season of SPN. All plot details up to you but work in a visit to the trailer if possible.
> 
> A/N: So, meshing these 2 shows is a bit of a problem since they have two completely different mythologies. Hopefully, I’ve pulled this off with a little tap-dancing. Season 1 of both shows just to make it easier on me. :D  
> If you haven’t seen/don’t know Grimm…I recommend it. Great show. Good stories and characters and a wonderfully developed world of supernatural beasties that can hide in plain sight from the likes of you and me…unless you’re a Grimm.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“I’m still not sure this is even a job,” Sam said as he glanced through the newspaper clippings in his lap for the third time.

“There’s bodies on the ground that look like they’ve been used for chewtoys.” Dean shrugged in the driver’s seat. “And last time I checked, Portland, Oregon didn’t have a rep for the public being eaten on a daily basis.”

Sam chuckled and folded the articles away. “Ok, fine. Well, whatever it is, it’s not a werewolf. Only one of these kills happened on a full moon.” He ran a finger through the frost on the inside of the window and shivered. “How come we can’t end up this far north in the summer?”

“’Cause our luck sucks.” Dean snorted a laugh and took the exit into Portland. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon behind them. The city lights started to glow as they drove down toward the city. It was big, and it’d been a while since Dean had been up this far North. “We’ll find a motel and then hit up the local P.D. for info.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to.” Sam shook his head. “I tried getting into their servers when we stopped for lunch but there aren’t any reports for these killings on their system. It’s kind of strange. It’s like someone erased them.”

“Huh. Maybe whatever’s doing the killing can pass for human and works for the police.” Dean scowled. “That could make things complicated.”

“Let’s not borrow trouble.” Sam hoped that wouldn’t be the case. “I did get one name from the system in connection with the deaths, even though there weren’t any reports. A detective. Uh…” Sam flipped through his notes for the name. “Nick Burkhardt.” He frowned and looked down at the city as they neared. “Have we ever been to Portland for a job before?”

Dean thought about it for a moment and tapped the wheel. “You know, I don’t think so. Big city like this…that’s kinda weird all by itself.”

They drove into the city proper and found a motel not too far from where the murders had taken place but, Dean hoped, far enough away to keep them out of harm’s way while they slept. Dean got them a room and only groaned once at the cheesy, macramé décor. “Think this place got left over from the seventies.”

Sam laughed when Dean got tangled in the beaded curtain blocking the bathroom door. “Could be worse.”

“How? Piece of crap,” Dean growled and tugged several beaded cords free of his collar.

“There could be lava lamps.” Sam grinned at his brother’s disgusted face and tossed his bag on the far bed. He pulled out his suit while Dean snarled his way into the bathroom and changed quickly. He was arguing with his tie by the time Dean came out, already dressed, and Sam resisted the urge to kick him for using a clip-on tie. “You know that looks unprofessional.”

“Whatever, bitch. I’m good to go and you’re still gonna be screwin’ with that thing when we get there.” Dean smiled broadly at him and nodded happily when Sam flipped him off. “Come on. Let’s go play Fed with the locals.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The Portland police department was bigger than Dean expected and he couldn’t help the occasional nervous twitch as they passed cop after cop and then stood in the elevator with several uniformed officers on their way up to the detective’s bullpen. He glanced at his brother and saw the same tension in his face. It wasn’t that long ago that Dean’s face was on wanted posters, and, while he was technically ‘dead’, thanks to the shifter, it was possible wanted bulletins were still sitting in offices somewhere waiting to trip them up at a moment’s notice. The elevator doors opened and Dean stepped quickly off with Sam at his side. They got more than one curious look as they strode down the hall.

“This looks like it,” Dean said and pushed open a set of glass-windowed doors into a busy squad room. “Yep. Dick central,” he said under his breath, looking at the many men and women in street clothes milling around various desks.

Sam elbowed his brother with a grimace. “Behave.”

“Can I help you find someone, gentlemen?” A shorter looking man of Asian descent in uniform greeted them with a wide smile.

“Yeah. Agent Hendrix.” Dean flipped open his badge. “My partner Agent Manilow.” Dean quirked a smile when he heard Sam’s soft snort. “We’re looking for a Detective Burkhardt.”

“Didn’t think they let pretty boys like you two be federal agents. I’m Sergeant Wu.” Wu laughed and waved them in. “I kid. I kid. Over here. Nick! Got a couple new faces for you. Don’t get excited. They’re Feds. Agents Hendrix and Manilow.”

Dean watched the man rise from his desk and turn to look at them. He was young and wearing a beat up leather jacket that Dean had to admire and shaggy dark hair that made him think of his brother. “Detective Burkhardt.”

Nick looked up at both men and couldn’t stop the smirk as he glanced at Agent Manilow. “Manilow? Any…”

“No relation,” Sam said quickly and didn’t give in to the temptation to kick his big brother. “We have some questions about a few unsolved murders in your city.”

“Yeah, our boss got a bug up his ass and Manilow here ticked him off last week flirtin’ with his wife. Hey!” Dean laughed and batted Sam’s elbow away. “My partner’s a little sensitive about it.”

Nick chuckled and put a hand over his mouth to hide the smirk. “Uh, yeah. Sure. What murders? We’ve got a few to choose from.”

Dean gave a wry, understanding smile. “I bet, in a city this size. These would be memorable.”

“Bodies with their guts ripped out and signs of, well…” Sam shrugged. “…that, uh, someone ate some of the…remains.”

“Oh, those.” Nick’s face closed down and he didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes narrowed knowingly at him. “They’re unsolved and we don’t have any leads.” Federal agents asking about kills he damn well knew were Wesen in origin was about his worst nightmare and these two didn’t look like they’d be easily put off. He smiled and tried to look innocent, glad that his partner, Hank, wasn’t there to laugh at his attempt. “There’s really not much I can tell you.”

“We’d like to see the reports,” Sam said with an easy smile and didn’t miss the way the detective had suddenly closed down. The man knew something he didn’t want to say, and, much as Sam hated to admit it, it added weight to Dean’s theory that maybe someone in the police department wasn’t as human as they seemed…like perhaps Detective Burkhardt.

“I’ll have to talk to my captain,” Nick said and shrugged apologetically. “If you guys can come back…”

“We’ll come back tomorrow.” Dean clapped a hand to Sam’s shoulder and gave him a nudge toward the door. “Make sure you’ve got ‘em ready.”

Nick watched the agents leave and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “That was way too easy,” he muttered.

“Dude!” Sam hissed once they were in the hallway. “He knows something and we’re just leaving?”

“No shit.” Dean snorted. He slapped the button for the elevator. “He’s not gonna tell us a damn thing, and sure as hell not in the middle of the squad room.” He stepped into the elevator when the doors opened and grinned at Sam. “I say we make a quick visit to the morgue, have a look at the bodies, and then tail our friendly neighborhood detective when he leaves work. See what he gets up to off the clock.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam climbed out of the Impala and looked dubiously at the storage facility they’d followed the detective to. “Looks like Bobby’s junkyard.” The yard beyond the tall, chain link fence was packed with trucks, vans, dilapidated RV’s and shipping containers.

Dean nodded and headed down the fence near an overpass. “Be a good place to hide out and cook up your victim’s entrails.”

Sam groaned. “Well, now I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Suck it up, geek.” Dean chuckled and pointed. “There. We can climb that and get over the fence.” He jogged over to a stack of crates at the edge of the overpass and climbed quickly up. Dean pulled off his leather jacket and flung it over the single string of barbed wire at the top. “Don’t tear my leather goin’ over, dude. I will maim you.”

Sam laughed and waited for his brother to go over the top of the fence in an agile vault. “Relax.” He planted his hands on either side, making sure to fist his hand in the leather as he jumped, rolled and brought the jacket with him. “Here, you big baby.”

Dean made a point of studying his jacket critically before pulling it back on. “You’re lucky.”

“You’re a prima donna.” Sam grinned and started into the yard, slipping quietly between containers and vehicles. “You see his truck?” he asked softly.

Dean shook his head and stepped ahead of Sam. “Hang on. Gimme a leg up.” He put his foot in Sam’s hands when his brother bent and offered and reached up to grab the top of a shipping container. Dean rolled up onto the cold metal and stood to survey the crowded yard. He smiled and rolled back over the side to land with a thump beside Sam. “Got him. About thirty yards that way parked next to a little camper. There’s a light on inside.”

“We could be wrong, you know,” Sam cautioned softly as they drew their guns and stalked closer. “Might just be a human. Maybe the guy’s just naturally suspicious.”

Dean snorted. “Right, and he spends his off time in a midget camper in the ass end of Portland for kicks? Nope. Something’s hinkey about this guy. I know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes but trusted Dean’s instincts. He was rarely wrong about people, at least on a job. He slid up alongside the little battered, white camper. Detective Burkhardt’s truck was parked next to it, and Sam heard the sound of low voices inside. He tapped Dean’s shoulder, pointed to his ear when Dean looked at him and held up two fingers.

Dean nodded; he’d heard the voices as well. He moved up to the little door in the side and raised a brow at his brother. Sam gave him a shrug to say he didn’t have a better idea and moved so he’d have a clear view into the trailer. Dean grabbed the handle and counted to three in his head before he yanked the door open and lunged inside, leading with his gun.

“Whoa! Whoa! Holy crap, don’t shoot!” A tall man with a head of curly hair and a beard threw his arms up and staggered back into Nick at a small desk near the rear of the camper. “Friends of yours, Nick? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m not feeling the warm and fuzzies here.”

Nick’s hand inched to his own gun and stopped with Agent Hendrix’s eyes firmly on him. “Agent? What are you…” He saw movement outside the door and his eyes widened as the taller man stepped into view. “…both of you, doing here? How’d you even find me?” Nick looked at his friend and smirked. “Monroe, put your hands down. They’re not gonna shoot you.”

“Maybe.” Dean said quickly and shrugged one shoulder. “Kinda depends on what exactly you know about those murders that you aren’t telling us.”

“Dean.” Sam had been cataloguing the interior of the camper with his eyes and had a feeling that they had definitely jumped wrong. “I think…they’re Hunters, like us. Look at this place.” Sam stepped up into the camper, ducking to get in the door and knew he was right.

“Oh, crap,” Monroe said with feeling and sagged. He moved quickly behind Nick. “You’re Hunters?”

“They’re federal agents,” Nick said and turned to see real fear on his friend’s face. “Monroe?”

Monroe shook his head and made sure to keep Nick between him and the two very tall men. “You know how you track down Wesen and, you know, the whole ‘Grimm’ thing?” He made air quotes with his fingers, and his eyes never left Dean’s gun. “They pretty much do what you do but for all the other supernatural crap out there that isn’t us…Wesen. The stuff they can actually see as normal humans. Or not see, if it’s invisible, I suppose. The point is, they know there’s more out there than just people…and they hunt it.”

“Whoa. Hang on.” Dean lowered his gun an inch, sensing that Sam was right and he’d jumped wrong. At the same time Nick threw a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about glance over his shoulder at his friend. Dean was pretty sure his own expression was similar. “What the hell’s a…a vessin? Sammy?”

“Is that what’s been killing people here?” Sam asked. He took a step further into the camper and stopped when he saw Dean’s hands tense around his gun. He wisely took a step back with Dean’s silent warning that he didn’t trust the detective or his friend just yet. “Look, Monroe is it?” Sam smiled when the man behind the detective nodded. “You’re right. We’re not feds. We came here looking for whatever has been mauling these victims. If you’re looking for it too, then maybe we can work together.” Sam rolled his eyes when Dean slapped the back of his arm. “What? Dean, we followed a detective and drew our guns on him. You really think he’s not gonna check us out after this and find out we’re full of crap?”

“Well, he sure as hell knows it now.” Dean groaned and lowered his gun. “Awesome. I’m Dean. This idiot masquerading as a genius is my little brother, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Moron.”

Monroe snorted an uneasy laugh and bumped the back of Nick’s shoulder. “How did you talk to these two already today and not peg them for brothers? I mean, it’s obvious. Federal agents.” He laughed with a shake of his head. “You guys kinda suck at the whole ‘we’re really not brothers’ thing.”

“Not helping, Monroe,” Nick said with a groan. “Ok. I think maybe we need to start again. Who the hell are you two really?”

Dean blew out a breath and grudgingly put up his gun. He waved a hand at the cluttered interior of the camper -- the artifacts, potion bottles, and the books lying open on the desk with hand drawn pictures of creatures on their pages. “Same thing you are, by the looks of it.”

“He’s a Grimm,” Monroe said cheerfully and shrugged with an innocent look when Nick glared at him. “What? You are. No point in pussyfooting around it.”

“What’s grim?” Sam frowned in confusion. “Why do I get the feeling we’re having a language barrier issue here?”

“He didn’t say grim. He said ‘a grim’.” Dean quirked a brow in a tacit request for explanation.

“It’s a bloodline. The Grimms have the ability to see Wesen.” Monroe scratched his head, trying to find the best way to explain it. “There’s a whole…I dunno…subset of, well, of creatures that Hunters more or less don’t know anything about.” He smirked at the look of disbelief on Dean’s and Sam’s faces. “You can’t see us. You guys have nabbed a few of us over the years, but only in our Woged forms, and you guys are basically clueless. No offense.”

“I’m not clueless. Shut up, Sam.” Dean glared over at his brother’s soft laugh.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face and smiled. “Right. I think maybe you need to give us a crash course in these…Wesen.”

An hour later, Sam was leaned over the desk with Nick flipping through the pages of the Grimm diaries and shaking his head in wonder at the sheer number of creatures he’d never even heard of before. “This is…how can Hunters not know about any of this?”

“They look like normal human beings to you, Sam.”

Sam shook his head slightly. “Lots of things appear human…until they change. We know about them.”

Nick smiled and glanced at Monroe. “Wesen are…a very private society. They keep what they are hidden most of the time. A lot are just normal…folks…living normal lives, not hurting anyone. I only see their real faces when they’re scared or, you know, pissed off.” He chuckled. “I tend to have that effect on them, when they find out who I am.”

“It’d be like if Dracula wandered into your living room, introduced himself, and asked for a drink,” Monroe said with a smirk. His smile faded when he realized the other brother, Dean, was still sitting on the other side of the camper and hadn’t taken his eyes off him. “Something on my face?”

“I dunno. I’m not a Grimm,” Dean said evenly. “So what are you then?”

“Huh?” Monroe backed up a step and tried to look harmless. “I’m just a watchmaker, man. I repair clocks and watches and get dragged into the occasional life-or-death situation by Nick because he has no sense of responsibility for my well-being.”

“I do too.” Nick laughed, but he was watching Dean now as well. He’d been a cop long enough to sense when someone was dangerous even when they appeared calm and relaxed. He did not sense any bad intent from the man across from him, but he radiated ‘dangerous’. “Why do you think he’s not human?”

“He slipped up earlier.” Dean sat up a little straighter and saw his brother stiffen from the corner of his eye. “He was talking about the Wesen and he said ‘like us’.” He nodded in Monroe’s direction. “So what are you and should I have my gun back out?”

Monroe raised his hands slowly and took a step around the desk closer to Nick. “Look, man. I’m harmless. Just your friendly neighborhood Blutbad.”

“Blut…werewolf.” Sam pulled one of the Grimm diaries over and flipped through the pages. “I saw that. You’re a werewolf?” He raised a hand out to his brother when Dean rose and drew his gun in one fluid motion, aiming it at Monroe, his eyes hardening. “Take it easy, Dean. That doesn’t mean the same thing for Wesen that it does for the ones we’re used to.”

“Monroe’s one of the good guys, Dean.” Nick fearlessly stepped in front of his friend and could practically feel Monroe vibrating with tension behind him. “I don’t know what kind of Blutbad you guys are used to, but…”

“The kind that change during a full moon and kill everything in sight,” Dean said simply. “They change and they lose all their humanity.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not like that. We aren’t like that.” Monroe said quickly. “None of that lunar cycle crap. The ones you hunt, they’re, like…feral. Poor suckers. Got nothing to do with me.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Dean in full-on Hunter mode tended to have that effect, andSam walked over to his brother and put a hand on his gun, easing it down. “He’s not a threat.” He smiled at Dean’s incredulous look. “It’s in the books, Dean. He’s safe. And anyway, look at the guy.” Sam moved so Dean could see past him. “He’s shaking in his sneakers.”

“Monroe’s a friend and he helps me.” Nick sighed in relief when Dean’s gun slowly lowered back to his side. “I’m kinda new at this, and half the time I don’t know what I’m doing with any of it.”

“Half the time?” Monroe said and grinned unrepentantly when Nick turned a quick glare to him. “I’m just saying.”

“The only thing he’s guilty of is being a pain in the ass.” Nick smiled when Dean laughed.

“I sympathize.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and put his gun up for the second time that night. He gave Monroe a measuring look and then shrugged. “He bites me, I’m gonna be pissed.”   
  
Sam laughed and moved back to the desk and Nick now that the crisis was averted. He couldn’t help looking more closely at Monroe, trying to see what he knew now was hidden there, but all he saw was a perfectly normal human. He shook his head and leaned back over the books. “So, Nick. Do you have a likely candidate for the murders?” Sam wanted a month to camp with Nick’s books and dig through them, learn everything he could about Wesen. It astounded him that the Hunting community knew next to nothing about them.

“We were narrowing it down when you two…dropped by,” Nick said and smiled. He pulled one of the diaries over and opened it, turning pages until he found what he wanted. He pushed it over to Sam. “I think this is our killer. A Rissfleich.”

“Rissflish?” Dean snorted. “That doesn’t even sound real.”

Sam smirked and looked over at him. “Wendigo.”

“Point taken.” Dean laughed.

“We have those, too.” Nick waved at another of the books. “There seems to be a lot of overlap between your…your world and mine. I just never realized yours was…real. Figured all the stories just came from various Wesen encounters over the centuries that some folks survived to describe.”

“I wish we had time to compare notes.” Sam looked down at the book and the picture of the Rissfleich. “A tiger-like Wesen.” He frowned at the book. “Damn, my German’s a little rusty.”

“It says they attack their prey with a pounce before tearing out their stomachs and feeding on the entrails.” Monroe swallowed and sighed. “Very messy eaters.”

“I think I know where to find him.” Nick leaned back against the shelves and crossed his arms over his chest. “I interviewed a guy yesterday. He was definitely upset about talking to cops and I saw his face…his real face, I mean. He had tiger stripes. I’m learning not to believe in coincidences on this job.”

“I hear that.” Dean stood and came over to look at the picture. “Ugly bastard. Anything special required to kill a…a Wesen? Need anything chanted in Latin, Sammy’s your man.”

Nick looked over in surprise. “Does that actually work?”

“Only on some things.” Sam said seriously. “Certain spells, rituals, some spirits, demons…dad had me reciting exorcisms in Latin when I was ten.”

“Spirits? As in ghosts? No way.” Monroe shook his head and then stared at the serious faces of both men. “Seriously?”

“Dude, you have no idea.” Dean shook his head. “Don’t want to either. So, where do we find the killer kitty?”  
  
Nick looked at him. “No way. You two have no idea what you’re up against here. We’ll handle it. You guys take a night off and enjoy some of the local night life.”  
  
Dean shook his head, “Ain’t happenin’. Me and him? We’ve been hunting things that go bump in the night and can shred you in under 30 seconds since we were kids. How long did you say you’ve been at this? We go after it together or we go separately. Don’t make much difference to me.” Dean gave Nick a tight smile. “We’ll just follow you…again.”

Nick looked at Monroe and got a shrug in response to his silent question of whether the brothers should come along. He sighed. “Alright then. You do what I tell you.” He glared when Dean snorted. “I’m not kidding. You may very well know what you’re doing, but this is my city and my job. I could just as easily turn you both in as frauds and let you cool your heels in lockup while we take care of this.”

“He’ll listen,” Sam said quickly and stared his brother down. “We both will.” He raised a brow at Dean to say they would do what they were told as long as they could and then smiled at Nick again. “Lead the way.”

“Bullets should work on a Rissfleich, at least according to this.” Nick tapped the Wesen’s image on the page. He took out his own sidearm, checked that it was loaded and slid it back into his holster. “Let’s get going.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Monroe watched Dean and Sam as they moved like a silent unit, weapons drawn and flanking him and Nick into the warehouse Nick had led them to. He shook his head and smiled when Dean glanced at him.

“What?” Dean asked softly.

“I think there must be a little Grimm in your family tree somewhere.” Monroe gave a wry smile. “You’re both kind of scary…like him.” He hooked a thumb at Detective Burkhardt.

“I’m not scary,” Nick said and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you are, but it’s part of your charm.” Monroe shrugged. “Or something.” He opened his mouth to say more and stopped, inhaling deeply. He grabbed Nick’s elbow and pulled him to a stop. “He’s here. The Rissfleich. I can smell him now.”

“You tell where?” Nick watched Monroe’s face and frowned when he shook his head. “Ok, spread out, but stay where I can see you.”

Dean nodded and gave a flick of his fingers to Sam to take the other side of the warehouse. He gave another nod to Nick and moved off to the far side. The center of the warehouse where the detective and Monroe walked was a mostly empty space. A few loading vehicles were parked here and there in the middle, and it was toward them they walked. The sides of the warehouse were lined with ten-foot shelves packed with crates, and, above them, a network of catwalks crisscrossed the air in a maze.

Sam looked up and kept his eyes on the catwalks. They were the best way the creature would have of catching them unawares. He felt a little off his game, hunting something they’d never even heard of before. He knew Dean felt a little out of his depth as well, though his brother would never admit it. Sam smirked and glanced over to where he could just make out Dean on the other side of the warehouse before he passed behind one of the loaders. Dean would put on a brave face in the face of Death himself, Sam thought.

“You sure you can’t tell where he is?” Nick whispered and felt the prickle on the back of his neck that said they were being watched.

“I smell him. It’s not a built-in Wesen location detection system,” Monroe retorted sarcastically.

Nick grinned over at him. “You worked on that one, didn’t you?”

“I can go home, you know.” Monroe stifled a laugh and sniffed the air again. “He’s close, but this whole place sort of smells like…rotting meat.”

“That’s comforting,” Nick whispered and looked around the warehouse again. He spotted Dean easily enough, but when he turned to his other side, herealized they’d allowed one of the loaders to come between them and Sam. “Sam?”

Dean’s head jerked down from the catwalks with the whisper of his brother’s name and fear stabbed into his gut when he couldn’t see him, his vision blocked by the large piece of machinery in the center of the room. “No.” Dean glanced up and around and quickly strode across the open expanse of floor toward Nick and Monroe. His walk became a run when his eyes caught the barest hint of movement in the dark above. “Sam! Look up!” A dark shadow dropped the catwalk. Two shots sounded in the warehouse, deafening him for a moment, and then he was running. “Sammy!”

Nick burst into motion and beat Dean around the machinery in time to watch the Rissfleich stagger away from Sam, who was prone on the floor, and snarl at him. “Back off,” Nick warned.

Dean sprinted past Monroe and slid to a stop in surprise. At first, he’d seen a man standing over his brother, but as he watched, the human face contorted and shifted and suddenly he was looking at the snarling visage of a tiger with clawed hands and vicious teeth. He leveled his gun at the creature when it took a step back toward Sam, and Dean saw blood dripping from the Rissfleich’s chest where Sam had shot it. “Sam?”

The Wesen roared, seemingly knowing that it was caught and launched himself toward Nick. The detective and Dean both fired into the creature’s body, but momentum was carrying him forward. At the last moment, Monroe slammed into the Rissfleich’s side with a loud growl and rolled them both away across the floor, leaving Nick to stagger in surprise.

“Holy crap,” Dean gasped when Monroe rose from the now dead man’s body and he got a look the Blutbad’s true face. It was definitely wolf-like with red eyes and fearsome teeth, yet, as Dean watched, Monroe shook himself and the wolf face melted away to be replaced by his human face once more.

“Monroe…thanks.” Nick bent to catch his breath and smiled at his friend.

“All part of the service,” Monroe said and got to his feet. He looked down at his sweater and groaned, brushing at a blood stain across the front. “I’m sending you my dry cleaning bill.”

“Sammy?” Dean dropped to his knees next to his brother and grabbed his head. “Sam.”

“Ow,” Sam moaned and blinked his eyes open blearily. “That…that hurt.”

Dean put a shaking hand over the blood covering his brother’s stomach. “How bad?”

“Huh?” Sam raised his head slowly and looked down at himself. “Dude…s’not mine. He just…body slammed me into the concrete. I shot him.” Sam let his head roll back into Dean’s hand. “D’I get him?”

Nick chuckled and knelt next to the brothers. He patted Sam’s leg with a smile. “Yeah, Sam. You got him.”

Dean blew out a breath in relief and smiled. “Come on, sasquatch. Up.” He pulled until his little brother was sitting up and held on to him when he listed sideways with a soft groan. Dean put a hand to the back of his head and rolled his eyes. “Well, some of the blood’s yours, dude.” He put his hand around where Sam could see the spots of blood. “Cracked your head but good.”

“I’ll call an ambulance and…” Nick stopped when Dean shook his head.

“Naw, we got this.” Dean looked down at his brother. “Unless you think you need a hospital. Do ya?”

The look on Dean’s face said clearly that Sam shouldn’t bullshit him and he smirked. “No. I’m ok. Just…got my bell rung. Dean can fix me up.”

Dean smiled over at Nick. “Our line of work, hospitals are for dire emergencies only. Occupational hazard.” He got to his feet and brought Sam up with him, steadying him when he swayed a little drunkenly. “Good?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He looked over at the Rissfleich’s body and sighed. “He just looks like a person.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Nick told them. He put his gun away and held a hand out to Dean. “Thanks for the help, guys.” He shook Dean’s hand and then Sam’s. “Do me a favor? Next time you’re in my city, let me know so we can compare notes.”

“Deal.” Sam smiled and held his hand out to Monroe, shaking it warmly. “I’d like to learn more about the Wesen. And Grimms. Always wondered if those brothers were actually Hunters.”

Nick chuckled. “Not quite, but close, apparently.” He smiled and then reached a hand out, tapping the knot of Dean’s tie. “And uh…the whole federal agent thing would look a lot more convincing if you wore an actual tie.”

Sam snickered at his brother. “Told you.”

“Shut up. Come on, geek.” Dean turned him away and pulled him into a walk. “Get you back to the motel so I can stitch that head up before your genius brains leak out.”

Sam smiled and did his best to walk in a straight line as they left. “Hey…you still have my copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales in the trunk?”

“Why would I still have that?” Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam looked at his brother’s face, saw the slight flush he was clearly trying to hide and began to laugh. “You do. It’s still in there. You kept it.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, Dean. That’s so sweet!”

“Bite me, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“I kept it for kindling.” Dean pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders when he swayed again. “Gonna start a nice big fire with it.”

Sam smiled happily and put a hand to his pounding head. “Nothing but a big softie. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone and ruin your bad ass reputation.”

“Seriously. Shuddup before I dump your ass on the side of the road.” Dean snarled, but he couldn’t stop the smile as they reached the Impala. “Get in before you fall down.” He helped Sam in, closed his door and went to the trunk. Dean opened it and reached unerringly for a panel in the back, pulled it up and took out a tattered, dog-eared copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales that Sam had loved as a kid. He held it up and shook his head as he looked at it. “Wesen. Our lives are weird.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	2. For mb64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For mb64 - I would like to request a preseries one-shot please. Teenaged Sam and Dean have a big argument right before Christmas, but then they realize that they were both wrong and that nothing is as important to them as each other. A happy ending is required of course! :D
> 
> A/N: You got it! We’ll go with Sam at 14 and Dean is 18. That should make for some lovely teenaged angry misunderstandings. Lol

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean took one look at his little brother’s face as he walked into the kitchen and knew it was going to be one of those days. The little house they had rented was cold. Minnesota in December sucked as far as Dean was concerned, and the walk Sam had to make from school every day didn’t help. He’d already had to warm the frostbite off Sam’s fingers and toes three times in the last week and was damn happy school was finally out for the Christmas break. All of that however had done nothing for Sam’s mood. Dean had figured there’d be trouble when Dad had packed his bags into his truck and taken off two days before Christmas. He’d made the usual promises to be home in time, but…Dean groaned and went to the coffee maker. Those promises almost never held out.

“Where’s the coffee?” Dean asked and picked up the pot that had a bare half-inch of dark liquid in the bottom.

“I drank it,” Sam said grumpily from the table. “Make some more if you want it.”

“Ok.” Dean banged the pot back onto the counter and turned to look at Sam with his arms crossed over his chest. “I get you’re pissed at Dad, but is there a reason you’re bitin’ my head off?”

Sam stood from his chair and grabbed a piece of paper from the table. “Dad called a half hour ago.” He balled up the paper and tossed it in Dean’s direction. “Have fun killing whatever the hell it is this time.”

Dean watched his brother stalk out of the kitchen and opened the paper, smoothing the wrinkles until he could read an address. “Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned. He went and picked up the phone, dialing his Dad’s number and wasn’t surprised when it was answered on the first ring. “Dad.”

“Dean. I need you out here. Pack up and get moving.” John Winchester said tersely and shoved more snow off the windshield of his truck. “Better hurry before the Impala gets snowed in there.”

“Dad.” Dean put a hand over his face for a moment and tried to find patience. “Do you even KNOW what day it is tomorrow?”

“Wednesday. Why?” John frowned and looked out at the snow-covered landscape.

“Dad! It’s friggin’ Christmas!” Dean said incredulously.

“Right. I knew that.” John shook his head and rubbed his sleeve under his nose. The cold was starting to make his face burn. “Look. You get out here and back me up, and we’ll be back by morning.”

“What about Sam?” Dean asked and heard the rebellious tone in his own voice.

“He’s fourteen, Dean. Sam can amuse himself for one night on his own. Just make sure the house is locked up tight and protected.”

“Dad!” Dean leaned back against the kitchen wall with a thump and glared at the floor. “You know he’s already pissed, and I’m not gonna ditch him on Christmas Eve!”

“He’s not a kid anymore, Dean, and neither are you! People are dying out here!” John’s patience hit its end and he climbed into his truck, grateful for the warmth from the heater. “Move your ass. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we get back.”

Dean stared at the phone when his father hung up and slammed it back into the cradle. He looked in the direction Sam had gone and closed his eyes. “Dammit.” Part of him, the part that had felt responsible for Sam since he was four years old, balked at the idea of leaving him alone on Christmas Eve, but he knew he couldn’t disobey his father. People were dying and his father was right; they had a job to do, and the monsters didn’t take a day off just because it was a holiday. He took a deep breath and walked down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Dean found Sam where he expected to, sitting on his bed in the corner, knees up, arms around them and waiting for him with a glare in place.

“Sammy.”

“Just go on,” Sam said angrily. “Go be a good little soldier.”

Dean’s own anger rose to the occasion because his little brother knew exactly what buttons to push and wasn’t above using every one of them when he was hurt or pissed off. “Dammit, Sam. You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, I do. Hunting means more to you and Dad than anything else.” Sam sniffed and looked away. “More than me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Dean’s voice rose and he stalked to his bed, pulling his duffel bag out from under it. “We save people, Sam. That’s what we do, and people are gettin’ killed right now. What are we supposed to do?”

“Let someone else do it for once!” Sam shouted and threw his pillow at his big brother’s back. “We’re not the only hunters in the world! Why can’t we have just one Christmas that’s…that’s normal!”

“And what about the people who aren’t gonna get one, huh?” Dean shoved some clothes, his favorite knife, and his gun into the bag and zipped it closed before he turned around to look at his brother with a glare. “You wanna tell ‘em they get to die so Sammy can have a few presents? You wanna tell their family that their husband, father, mother, brother, whatever, is never gonna be there for Christmas again?” Sam’s jaw fell open in shock and Dean regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but, dammit, there were times he understood their father’s frustration with him. “This ain’t a game, Sammy. I’m gonna go help dad and we’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Bullshit.”

“Watch your mouth!” Dean yelled and grabbed his bag. “You stay in the house. Keep the doors locked. There’s…”

“A gun in the kitchen. Yeah, I know.” Sam got off his bed and stomped past Dean, knocking his elbow as he went. “Don’t give a damn about presents, Dean.”

Dean flinched when Sam went into the bathroom and slammed the door hard enough to sift dust from the ceiling above. He shook his head and stalked into the hall. “You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, Sam! You know that?” He waited for an angry response, and when all he received was the thump of a bad-tempered kick to do the door, Dean turned and left. “We will be back for Christmas, dammit.” Dean growled and left the house, pulling the door shut and locking it behind him. He ducked his head against the blowing snow and was too angry to bother cleaning off the windshield as he got in the Impala. He let the wipers do the work and hoped his brother would cool the hell off before they got back. Otherwise Christmas was just going to be long argument between him and his dad. “Awesome.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

John Winchester glanced back at his eldest son and saw the same dark, brooding look on his face that had been there all night. “Knock it off, Dean.”

“Not doin’ nothin’,” Dean said sullenly and kicked through another snow drift. He was cold, he was tired, and it was Christmas Day. They’d spent the night tracking the werewolf through the frozen woods and had finally killed the thing in a hail of silver bullets only an hour before dawn.

“Soon as we reach the cars, we’ll grab the salt and gasoline. Head back in and take care of the body.” John ducked under a low hanging branch and heard a grumble from behind him. “What was that?”

“That’s gonna take hours.” Dean made himself speak up. “It’ll be night before we get back.”

John looked up at the lightening sky and the heavy clouds there with a frown. “Probably tomorrow or the next day from the looks of those. It’s gonna start dumping snow again any time now. Come on. We’re almost there.”

Dean picked up the pace, following his father and had made up his mind by the time the dark bulks of his dad’s truck and the Impala came into view. “You can take care of the body. I’m heading back now.” He started toward his car and wasn’t really surprised when Dad grabbed his arm and spun him around.

“Job’s not done yet, son,” John said angrily. “Sam will be fine for a day or two more.”

“You know what, Dad?” Dean jerked his arm free. “We’re his family, not his platoon! He’s allowed to want us around for a damn holiday once in a while! Especially Christmas! He’s fourteen-years-old and he’s allowed to want normal, and I think it’d be nice if maybe you let him sometimes.”

John watched his eldest stomp toward his car and couldn’t decide whether to let the anger or the shock overcome him. “Dean…”

“It’s Christmas, Dad! I’m goin’ back to Sammy.” Dean pulled open the driver’s side door and looked back at their father. “You come back for Christmas if you think you can fit us in.” He pulled door closed on his father’s angry voice and started the car, grateful that, even after a night in the cold, the engine rumbled to life on the first try. He pulled away from the forest and back onto the snow-covered road, leaving his father standing there watching.

Ten miles later down the road, Dean started to shake with the repercussions of what he’d done. It wasn’t often he stood up to his dad like that, and he hated having to do it, but…it was the right thing to do. He never should have left Sam alone on Christmas and he damn well knew it.

“Shit, I’m an ass,” Dean said softly to himself as he drove. He jumped when his cell phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out, keeping one hand firmly gripped on the wheel. The roads were crap. They’d lost cell service in the forest and it was a relief to know it was back now. He flipped his phone open and was surprised to see a voicemail from Sam’s number. He hit dial and put the phone to his ear.

_“Hey, uh…Dean.” Sam’s voice sounded soft and a little miserable. “I’m sorry. I hope you guys are ok right now, and, uh…it’s Christmas, you know? Even if you’re not…if you’re not here, you and Dad, we shouldn’t fight. I don’t wanna fight, Dean. I just…we’re cool, right? I was being pig-headed. I know it. I’m sorry. I just…Merry Christmas, Dean, and you know, tell dad too. That’s…that’s all. Merry Christmas, jerk. See you when you get home.”_

Dean lowered the phone and sniffed with emotion. “Bitch,” he said fondly and hit the button to dial his brother and let him know that he’d be home in a couple hours. The first, fat snowflakes began to fall as the line rang and Dean frowned when Sam didn’t pick up. “Come on, dude. Answer the phone.” He checked his watch and realized it was five in the morning, but still…Sam always answered. He knew his little brother suffered when he was alone, always afraid that they wouldn’t come back, that some horror would kill them and leave him alone forever. Sam never ignored the phone.

“Sammy, pick up, dammit!” Dean snapped his phone closed and pressed harder on the gas. A bad feeling sank into his stomach and he suddenly hated himself a little for leaving his brother with the last things he said to him having been in anger. He drove through the now driving snow and tried not to listen to the voice at the back of his mind that said something was wrong.

The snow fell heavier and what little was left visible of the blacktop vanished under a blanket of white as Dean drove. The sun slipped over the horizon and gave a cold glow to the world as the Impala sped into the sleepy little, Minnesota town. There were few cars on the road. The snowfall was quickly becoming a blizzard, and on Christmas Day, there seemed to be few people daring enough to brave it. Dean had called his father an hour before to tell him that Sam wasn’t answering, but had been forced to leave a voicemail. His dad must still have been in the forest and out of cell range.

Dean fought the wheel as he turned the corner onto their street and the back end of the Impala slid out through the snow. “Shit. Shit!” He cursed and managed to regain control of the car and stop just short of sliding into a row of mailboxes. He shook his head and straightened out, driving down the middle of the street. Finally, the little house appeared out of the blowing snow, and Dean turned into the drive feeling a small measure of relief that he was finally home. He climbed out of the Impala, brushing flakes of snow from his eyes as he jogged to the front porch through the drifts, and he stopped, staring in disbelief at the sight that greeted him. The front door of the little house stood open and yellow crime-scene tape fluttered in the stiff wind, dangling like streamers as it was blown about.  

Dean shook his head in denial and forced himself to move. “Sam,” he whispered his brother’s name and climbed the steps, slipping on ice beneath the snow. He ducked under the yellow tape and stepped inside. It was cold like a meat locker and frighteningly silent. “Sammy?” Dean called and reached out, flicking on the light in the hall. It glowed to life and Dean looked into the living room.

A small pine tree lay on its side on the floor. Dean frowned and realized it was the little tree from the front yard. Sam must have gone out and cut the stupid thing down to bring it in. He smiled a little seeing the nest of Christmas tree lights still plugged in and glowing cheerfully in the corner but the smile faded. The rest of the room was a disaster. The chair was overturned, the ratty couch pushed diagonal against the wall, and the lamp had been overturned, leaving broken glass to glitter in the dirty brown carpet.

Dean stepped back into the hall and saw more disarray. The picture of someone else’s family that had been left hanging on the wall when they moved in was hanging at an angle, and the little table next to the kitchen door had been smashed under someone’s weight. Dean walked stiffly down the hall and turned on the kitchen light as he stepped inside. The spit dried in his mouth as his heart thundered up into his throat. Blood spattered the floor of the kitchen and up the white refrigerator. The drawer where he’d left the gun for Sam was yanked out and on the floor and lying beside a small pool of blood.

“Oh, God,” Dean breathed. He jerked into motion and ran down the hall to the bedrooms, still vainly hoping to find his little brother. “Sammy!” He slammed open the door to their room, but it was empty. Dean ran back out into the hall, and for a moment, he had no idea what to do. He shook himself and pushed the fear back. Dean ran back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone off the wall with shaking hands and dialed the emergency number. He had to swallow once, hard when the operator answered.

“I need help. I just got home and there’s…there’s blood everywhere, and my little brother…he’s not here. He’s missing, and there’s crime scene tape on my front door. Where is he? What happened?” Dean reined in the panic that threatened to overwhelm and managed to give the operator the address.

“Sir, there was a break in at that address last night and reports of shots fired.” The operator kept her voice calm. She could hear the ragged breathing of a terrified man on the other end of the line. “No fatalities. Two people were taken to New Ulm Medical Center, one of them was a teenage boy.”

“Sam. That’s Sam. He’s alive right?” Dean asked and brushed angrily at the tear that rolled down his face. “He’s alive.”

“Sir, I can only tell you what I know from the call log last night.” She said sadly. “He and another man were removed from the home alive at time of transport.”

Dean took what hope he could from that. “Where is it? New Ulm?” He listened to her calm voice, making a mental note of the directions. “Thanks.” He didn’t hear anything else she said, hanging the phone up with a bang as he ran from the house. Dean threw himself back into the Impala, heedless of the near white-out that was quickly blanketing the little city and pulled out his phone, calling his father and hearing his voicemail pick up again.

“Dad. Sam’s hurt. Someone broke into the house last night and he was taken to New Ulm Medical Center.” Dean had to slap his hand with the phone back to the wheel when the Impala fishtailed again. “Shit. Sorry. He was alive last night. I don’t….we never should have left him. I shouldn’t have left him. God, Dad. There was so much blood…hurry up and get the hell back here.” Dean snapped the phone closed and shoved it back into his pocket, putting all his attention back on the road, what little of it he could still see, as he drove. “What happened to you, Sammy?”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_…the night before…_

Sam hung up the phone in the kitchen and hoped his voicemail would be enough to fix things with his big brother. He leaned on the wall for a moment and looked at the empty coffee pot. Sam grimaced at himself and how childish he’d been about it. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. He knew that.

“God, I’m stupid sometimes.” Sam walked into the living room and looked around the sparsely furnished room. He ran his hands through his shaggy hair and smiled. “I can fix this.” He went back down the hall and pulled open the cellar door. Sam turned on the light and ducked as he went down the narrow stairs. He’d been digging about in the cellar the week before with nothing better to do on a snow day and had turned up a little box, hidden back in the corner. Sam pulled it out and grinned as he opened it, revealing the long lost strings of Christmas lights hidden inside. He took them back upstairs and upended them on the living room floor.

Sam sat next to the wall, folding his awkward, gangly legs under him and set to work untangling the strings. He tugged on the leg of his jeans, trying to pull them down over his cold ankles but they were too short. He rolled his eyes. He was growing faster than his clothes could keep up, something which Dean took much pleasure in teasing him about lately, but Sam was secretly beginning to think he’d end up taller than his big brother. That thought made him smile. Dean wouldn’t be able to call him squirt and short-round anymore.

He spent a half an hour untangling the three strings and left them coiled carefully in a pile, plugged in and blinking cheerfully. Sam smiled and stood. He looked around the living room and sighed. “Now, what am I going to put you on?” He looked out the front window and a smile crept across his face. He jogged back into the kitchen and rummaged through the space under the sink, grinning when he came out with a little hand-axe.

Sam grabbed his coat off the back of the couch and went out onto the porch into the deepening night. The sun had long gone down and it was truly dark outside with the thick cloud cover above. The only light came from the glow of the street lights on the snow, and Sam waded through the two feet of snow in the front yard to the little baby pine tree in the middle. “Dad’s gonna kick my ass,” he muttered with a soft laugh and knelt in the snow. He dug out the base of the tree, spared a glance around for the other houses, and hoped no one was watching.

Sam’s fingers were frozen and turning blue by the time he had the little tree tucked under one arm. He ran back up onto the porch and fumbled the door open. Sam caught hold of the snow- covered tree with both hands as it slipped from under his arm and nudged the door open with a hip. He carried the tree into the living room and set it down in the empty corner by the window.

“Brrr.” Sam put his fingers in his mouth, trying to warm them. “Holy crap, s’cold.” He heard the crunch of a snowy boot out on the porch and froze, realizing he’d left the front door wide open. He turned, lowering his hands and got three steps toward the door when a strange man appeared in the hall. Sam froze in fear.

“Hey, kid. You all alone here?”

Sam shook his head and backed up a step as a second man appeared behind the first. They both wore beat-up, heavy winter coats and shoved their hoods back to reveal stringy hair and dirt-grimed faces. “M-my brother…he’s gonna be back soon.”

The taller of the two men snorted and lunged forward suddenly to grab one of Sam’s arms. “Think you’re full o’ shit, kid. See, I think…” He jerked Sam into him, smiling when the boy yelped in pain. “…you’re all alone in here for Christmas and ain’t that a shame?”

“Prob’ly got some shit you don’t need, huh?” The second man chuckled and walked into the living room to look around. “Presents? Money maybe? Come on, kid. Where’s the goods?”

“Noth…nothing. There’s nothing.” Sam planted his feet on the floor and tried to stay calm, readying himself. “I’ve got…like, ten bucks. You can have it. Just go.”

“Ten bucks? Horse crap.” The man holding Sam twisted his arm again. “Gotta have more than that. Give it up and we won’t even break you before we leave. It’s cold out there. Gotta have something to stay warm with.”

Sam shook his head, swallowed hard and burst into action. He kicked the leg of the man holding him and spun, delivering another kick to the chest of the other man that sent him tumbling backward into the couch with a crash.

“No, you don’t!” The first man made another grab for Sam and tackled him, sending them both slamming into the lamp next to the door. The glass shade and bulb exploded under their weight and Sam rolled free of him, punching the side of the stubbled jaw. He scrambled to his feet and didn’t even notice the glass embedded in his palms or the side of his face. His only thought was to get to the kitchen…to the gun.

“Get back here, you little bastard!”

Sam gasped for breath and looked behind him. He ducked away from another tackle by the man who’d grabbed his arm, letting him slam into the little table by the door. It collapsed under his weight, and Sam stumbled into the kitchen. He ran to the counter and yanked open the drawer by the phone. The drawer dropped to the floor and Sam knelt, pulling the heavy forty-five out of the pile of papers. Sam turned, sitting on the floor and raised the gun as the taller man came into the kitchen.

“STOP!” Sam screamed and aimed the gun at his chest. “Get out! Get out or I’ll shoot!”

The man snarled, brushing broken glass from his chin and stalked closer to Sam. “Ain’t loaded is it, you little shit.” He jerked back in surprise when the gun fired, the sound filling the little kitchen and he felt something red-hot slam into his left shoulder.

Sam watched the man spin and fall with a cry and lowered the gun to keep him in his sights while he writhed and shouted on the floor. “Is too loaded,” Sam whispered in a shaking voice. He got to his feet and took a step closer to the door. Sam gasped when the second intruder lurched into sight. He fired at the same moment he saw a gun in the other man’s hand. He heard the sound of two shots fired almost simultaneously and fell backward with pain tearing through his stomach. Sam leaned against the counter and somehow managed to keep his gun up, leveled at the door. The second man had vanished around the corner and Sam waited.

“I’m gonna kill you, you little fucker!” The man shouted from the hall and Sam heard the hammer of a gun cock back.

Sam sobbed in a breath, uncaring of the tears that flowed down his cheeks and kept the gun steady. “D-Dean,” Sam choked his brother’s name out like a plea. In the distance, he suddenly heard the sound of sirens growing nearer and realized one of the neighbors must have heard the shots and called the police. “They’re coming! C-cops are c-coming!” He heard an angry curse from the hall, and then the sound of the man’s footsteps pounding through the house and out the door, away.

Sam let the gun lower into his lap slowly and couldn’t get control of his hitching breaths. He looked up at the phone but it was just too far away. He looked down at his stomach and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood spreading across his shirt and leaking onto the cracked linoleum. He let his head drop back to the cabinet, and the world slowly started to darken around him with the sirens loud, sounding like they were outside. He heard voices yelling, but none of them belonged to his brother or his dad and Sam closed his eyes, unable to stop the darkness from taking him, his last thought a heartfelt prayer of gratitude that he had at least had time to leave that last message for his brother. At least his last words to him would not have been the angry words he’d hurled at Dean when he left.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean ran into the emergency room in a swirl of snow and slid to a stop at the desk. “Sam Winchester. He was brought in last night. Where the hell is he?”

“Calm down, sir.” The young man in green scrubs raised a hand and turned to a computer. “Do you know what time he came in?”

Dean shook his head. “No. No, I…I think he was shot.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s just a kid. He’s fourteen and he’s my little brother and I need to see him right the hell now.”

“Just hang on.” The nurse pulled up the files from the night before and frowned. “I don’t have that name listed, but I do have a teenage John Doe brought in. Gunshot wound, and it appears he wasn’t conscious to give them a name when he came in.”

“Oh, God,” Dean groaned and leaned on the desk, suddenly dizzy. “How bad? Is he…he’s alright, isn’t he?”

The nurse stood and took Dean’s arm, pulling him aside. “Here, sit. You need to sit.” He pushed Dean down into a chair and looked around, catching the eye of a pretty, blonde nurse. “Lizzy, go find Doctor Adams. Tell him I’ve got his patient’s brother out here.”

“That boy in fourteen?” Lizzy asked in surprise and nodded. “I’ll be right back!”

“He’s alive. Sam’s his name, you said? I’m Tyler.” Tyler smiled gently at Dean’s face. The guy, and he wasn’t much older than his brother, he thought, was clearly in shock. “I’ll let his doctor explain everything, but he’s alive, alright? So just take a breath and try to calm down a little.”

“I need to see him,” Dean insisted.

“You will. Just wait for the doctor.” Tyler sat next to the young man and put an arm over his shoulders. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Dean.” Dean dropped his face into his hands miserably. “Why the hell did I leave him alone?”

“You couldn’t have known.” Tyler reassured him. “The police were here last night. They said two men broke into the house and…attacked him, but Sam put up a hell of a fight. He, uh…he shot one of them. The guy’s alive. The cops caught the other one trying to run.”

“Tyler?”

“Doctor Adams.” Tyler smiled and stood. “This is Dean Winchester. Your patient is his little brother, Sam.”

Dean shot to his feet and barely resisted the urge to grab hold of the doctor’s white coat and demand answers. “I need to see my little brother. Right. Now.”

Doctor Adams smiled, not concerned at the contained fury he could see radiating off the young man in front of him. “Of course. Come with me. Thank you, Tyler.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Dean. You’ll see.” Tyler patted Dean’s shoulder and watched him go with a sigh.

“How bad’s he hurt?” Dean asked as they walked.

“It was bad, Dean. I won’t lie to you.” Doctor Adams reached out and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder to steer him around a medical cart. “Sam was shot in the stomach.” He steadied the older brother when he staggered. “It was a small caliber, and it missed everything vital for the most part. I was able to safely remove the bullet and repair the small tear in Sam’s kidney.”

“His kidney?” Dean felt himself growing faint and shook his head to clear it.

“It’s alright. He lost a lot of blood and we were worried for a bit, but he’s doing much better this morning.” The doctor nodded to himself and to Dean, turning him down yet another hall. “His vitals are right where I’d like them to be, and I’m hoping you can persuade him to wake up for us.”

“He’ll wake up for me,” Dean said surely. He stopped when the doctor did and went through the door the man motioned him too.

“Now, all the tubes and wires are going to look a bit scary, but I promise you, he really is out of the woods.” Doctor Adams followed Dean into the room and wasn’t surprised when the elder brother staggered to a stop around the curtain to stare. Sam lay partially raised in the bed. One side of his face was littered with small wounds, and a dark bruise ran from just below his eye to his chin. Both of his hands were wrapped in gauze, his left arm was in a sling, and there was the clear outline of a heavy bandage over his stomach, under the sheet.

“What…” Dean waved a hand at his brother in confusion. “What’d they do to him?”

The doctor sighed deeply. “The officers who responded to the call said it looked as though Sam had taken a bit of a beating before reaching the gun he used on one of his attackers.” He walked around to the bed and patted Sam’s foot under the sheet. “His left elbow’s very badly sprained, but it’ll be fine. He should regain full range of motion with a little physical therapy.” He watched Dean come forward slowly and stepped back. “I’ll just give you a bit of time alone.” As he was leaving, the doctor glanced back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, from what the cops say, he didn’t go down quietly. He apparently put up quite a fight.”

Dean nodded mutely, feeling numb, and moved to the bed. He reached a hand out and wished Sam’s weren’t bandaged. There was barely an inch on the kid he could touch that wasn’t injured. “Oh, God, Sammy. I’m so sorry.” Dean carefully lowered the rail on the side of the bed and sat next to his brother’s hip, careful not to jar him. He put a hand up and into Sam’s shaggy, dark hair, carding his fingers back a few times.

“Sammy?” Dean called softly. He curved his other hand around Sam’s jaw and gave a watery smile. “Sam. It’s…it’s Christmas, dude. You gotta wake up.” He coughed and swallowed. “Can’t believe you cut down that pathetic little tree in the front yard. Wake up, Sam. Come on.” Dean leaned back and then froze as he saw Sam’s eyes begin to move under his lids. “Sammy? That’s it, buddy. Come on. Sam.” Dean took his brother’s face again, careful of the wounds, and waited. It took several minutes but Dean’s patience was rewarded when Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him with glazed, blue-green eyes.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was a coarse whisper.

Dean had never heard anything better. He nodded and grinned, blinking away the suspicious moisture in his eyes that threatened to spill down his face. “Alright, little brother?”

Sam frowned, looking around the room in confusion and then his eyes went wide in remembered terror. He would have shot up in the bed if Dean hadn’t pressed a hand into his shoulder to stop him.

“Whoa! Don’t do that!” Dean held Sam down as gently as he could and waited for Sam’s panicked gaze to come back to him. “You’re alright! You’re in the hospital. It’s ok. You’re ok. They’re gone, and I’m back.”

Sam’s breathing slowed grudgingly from near hyperventilating to something approaching normal and he nodded once. “Hospital.” He looked back up at his brother and then the pain hit him. He groaned and tried to curl around himself, but again, Dean was there to stop him.

“Take it easy. You’re pretty banged up, dude,” Dean said and put his hand back into Sam’s hair, offering him the comfort that always seemed to soothe him when he had nightmares. “You remember what happened?”

Sam nodded and tried to breath around the burning pain in his gut. “I, uh…there were…there were two of them. They…they followed me into the h-house, and…and…”

“Ok. It’s ok. Forget about it. Tell me later.” Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder while his brother’s breathing hitched and tried to calm him down. He looked at Sam miserably then and sighed. “Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. It’s friggin’ Christmas, dude. It was a dick thing to do, even for a job.”

Sam gave a ghost of a smile and raised a hand to Dean’s shoulder, frowning when he saw his hands were bandaged. “It’s ok. You’re kind of a dick.” He managed a weak grin when Dean chuckled. “But…what happened to my hands?”

Dean shook his head. “Dunno. We’ll ask the doc when he comes back. Or you’ll remember.” He shrugged and smiled again. “Don’t worry about it.” He started to ease off the bed to sit in the chair and rolled his eyes fondly when Sam caught his arm with a bandaged hand. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, dude.” He sat back down and plucked Sam’s hand off him. “Knock it off before you hurt yourself.”

Sam sighed in relief and rolled slowly and carefully onto his side until his head was resting against Dean’s knee. Normally, he’d kick himself for acting like such a child, but he was still shaken…still terrified, really, and it was Christmas. He needed his big brother. “Where’s Dad?”

“On his way,” Dean said easily and believed that with all his heart. He expected his phone to ring at any moment with panicked questions from their father. “He’ll be here.” Dean decided to give their dad a present while he was at it. “He sent me back ahead so you wouldn’t be alone while he took care of the body.” Dean smiled at Sam’s surprised face. “What? It’s Christmas. Dad wasn’t just gonna leave you all alone today.”

Sam smiled and relaxed into the bed again, grateful when his brother stayed right where he was. “Was so scared, Dean. I thought – there was so much blood.”

Dean could see the tears Sam was fighting to hold back and knew what he had thought. “I know, buddy. I know.” Dean put a hand back in his little brother’s hair and rubbed Sam’s back with the other. He was still shaken from what he’d seen in the house. “Me too.” The idea that Sam spent his Christmas Eve lying in a pool of his own blood thinking he was going to die alone tore at Dean’s heart and he had to fight to not pull his brother into his arms and just hold onto him.

“Dean?” Sam rolled his head slightly to look up at him feeling a tremble run through Dean’s hands. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean smiled down at him with an expression of affection that Sam knew no one else ever got to see.“Merry Christmas, little brother,” he said warmly and knew he had the only gift he wanted for Christmas right there, in a hospital bed, drooling into his knee.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	3. For leahelisabeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Leahelisabeth - it's Christmas in season 2. Sam has been poisoned by a supernatural poison that leaves him in agony but unable to pass out. Dean can't stop it unless he kills the monster so he has to leave Sam behind in the motel room and go kill it. Sam is in a bad head space and thinks that Dean gave up on trying to save him and has left him to die alone. And, of course, Dean has to save Christmas at the end. :) And just go nuts! Add in whatever other hurty comforty details your little heart desires! :D
> 
> A/N: We’ll set this one after 2x14 ‘Born Under a Bad Sign’. Good place to have Sam still mired in guilt from shooting his brother and murdering Wandell while under Meg’s control. Just what the lady ordered. :P Enjoy!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was a shameless plea for comfort from the backseat and Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“I know, buddy. Just keep breathing, ok? We’re almost there.” Dean pressed a little harder on the gas in spite of the torrential downpour threatening to wipe out the roads. His little brother gave another strangled, muffled cry, and he swallowed hard around the lump of guilt in his throat. It was going to be a long time before he forgave himself for putting Sam in harm’s way the way he had tonight. That moment was going to be on instant replay in his mind for many nights to come.

Uncharacteristically, he hadn’t even balked when Sam had volunteered to stride into the clearing to draw out their prey, and Dean scowled, wondering what twisted excuse for a deity would come up with a creature like a nautilous. The damn thing belonged in a lake somewhere, not walking around on two legs in a forest tearing unsuspecting hikers limb from limb. Dean rubbed his left shoulder to soothe the ache that still had hold. It was why he’d let Sam take point. He was still healing from the bullet the demon Meg, via his brother’s body, had put in him. He wished now he’d listened to Bobby when the older Hunter had told them to give it another week before going back on the job.

The nautilous looked like it had been cobbled together from a man and a crustacean. A hard, outer shell covered the thing’s upper body, flowing along its torso and arms and curving out over where its human head should have been. The thing had what looked like something a snail had coughed up and combined with an octopus before shoving it inside the shell. Whip-thin tentacles waved out of the shell while beady, black eyes twitched on short stalks beneath them. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the tentacles were barbed and they’d found out the hard way…poisoned.

Sam had taken one look at Dean rubbing his left shoulder and his face had fallen in that way that said he was slapping at himself yet again for what the demon had done. Dean had wanted to kick him for it until he stopped but there was no point. Sam would let it go when he was damn good and ready, so he’d caved. Dean had allowed his brother to take point after being angrily informed that he wasn’t a hundred percent and, oh, how he wished he’d sucked it up now and told Sam to screw off.

The nautilous had roared out of the trees the moment Sam reached the center of the clearing and dove for him like he had a steak around his neck. Dean hadn’t even been able to take a shot at the thing before it had Sam wrapped up and rolling on the ground. He’d run for them, calling his brother’s name and seen the nautilous’ tentacles latch onto and around his brother’s shoulder and neck. Sam had screamed, a sound Dean was unaccustomed to hearing out of his little brother’s mouth. The sound tore at his heart and it had urged him on with the overwhelming need to rip apart, with his bare hands if necessary, the thing that was causing Sam that kind of pain. He’d delivered a crippling kick to the nautilous’ belly, sending it rolling away. and he’d turned its face -- or where its face should have been -- into a pulp with his gun. Or he’d thought he had, but the creature, despite his efforts, had staggered to its feet and run back into the forest and he’d let it, his entire attention focused on his little brother lying on the ground, gasping in pain, blood staining through his shirts.

Dean glanced up now and looked in the rearview mirror and hated himself anew. Sam was propped in the backseat, shirtless and Dean had no choice but to look at the array of bleeding marks that peppered his right shoulder and neck. Some Christmas this was going to be, he thought miserably. “Sammy?” he called and gave a little nod of reassurance when Sam rolled his eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Hu…hurts, Dean,” Sam managed between gasped breaths and closed his eyes again.

“I know, buddy. We’re almost there and I’ll get you taken care of.”

Sam nodded and put all his effort into not screaming again. Agony was tearing through him like knives through flesh and stealing even his ability to breathe sometimes with the strength of it. The worst part for him was…he couldn’t pass out. More than once since Dean had picked him up and half-carried him back to the car, darkness had threatened, eating away at the edges of his vision, but each time, something chased it away and left him crying out and wishing for the peace of unconsciousness. It had to be whatever poison the nautilous had left in his wounds when it attacked him, and Sam hoped getting rid of it would be easier than surviving its effects.

Dean turned into their motel and parked, grateful they had the room on the end and their nearest neighbor was half the length of the building away. Odds were that getting Sam cleaned up was not going to be a quiet process. He went to the trunk first, pulling out the first aid kit and took that into their room then ran back to the car.

“Ok, Sammy. We’re here. Let’s get you up, huh?” Dean reached in and slid his hands under Sam’s good shoulder. “Come on.” He pulled gently until he had Sam sitting on the edge of the seat and then slowly levered him up, wrapping both arms around his waist. “Lean on me. Here we go. Few more feet.” Dean kicked the door closed and got Sam moving in an unsteady walk into the motel room. He sat him on the far bed and pulled the first aid kit over.

“Dean,” Sam said and hunched over himself. He’d have curled forward onto the floor if not for his brother’s warm hand on his shoulder, keeping him upright. “S’bad. Make…make it s-stop.”

“I’m gonna, ok? Just lay back.” Dean took out the holy water and sat next to his brother. Sam’s whole body trembled with pain and the effort to not give in and scream but he was losing. Dean could tell; he could see it on Sam’s face in the ever-deepening pain lines around his eyes. “This should do the trick, but...” He trailed off dreading the idea of causing his brother even more pain on top of what he was already going through.

Sam nodded tightly, knowing what was coming, and closed his eyes, turning his head away so Dean could have clear access to all the wounds. He tried to brace himself but still he jumped at the first touch of cool water on his over-heated skin. Sam waited for the inevitable rush of the familiar burning pain of holy water but it never came. He blinked his eyes open as another wave of agony rushed through him. “It’s not…no reaction?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned and set the holy water down. He ran a hand through his hair and then pulled out the antiseptic and some gauze. “Ok. I’m gonna clean these up and call Bobby.” He dug his phone out of his pocket, dialed Bobby and propped it on his shoulder so he could have both hands free to work. Sam was curling in around himself while Dean cleaned each wound, and he had to keep pushing him flat again. “Bobby. Hey, we got a problem.”

“What kinda problem?” Bobby set the spoon back in his chili and frowned. “Should’a been fairly easy killin’ that thing.” His eyes blew wide when he heard a sound that could only be Sam screaming.

“That’s the problem. Take it easy, Sam. Easy!” Dean finished cleaning the wounds and put a hand on Sam’s neck to try and anchor him while he sobbed for breath. “The creature got its…its tentacles into him. There was some kind of poison and I think it’s killin’ him, Bobby.”

“Alright, calm down,” Bobby said, though he knew there was zero chance of that happening when it came to Sam being in pain. “The poison will wear off in an hour or so now the nautilous is dead.”

Dean’s jaw fell open and he stood, taking hold of the phone as he moved away from the bed so Sam wouldn’t hear. “What about if it’s not dead?”

“What do you mean if it’s not?” Bobby rolled his eyes to the ceiling and blew out a breath. “There’s no antidote for that poison, son, ‘cept for killin’ the thing. Once it’s dead, the poison dies with it. You need to kill that thing and fast.”

“Is it lethal?” Dean asked and grimaced when Sam’s voice rose in agony again and his little brother curled in a ball on the bed with his arms wrapped around his chest, like he was trying to hold himself together. “Bobby, is it gonna kill him?”

“No. Not right away at least.” Bobby scrubbed a hand over his face and wished he wasn’t a day away from his boys as Sam’s pain-filled voice carried through the phone again. “The poison’ll keep him conscious and it…incapacitates its victims. Takes a day or two before it kills though. You’ve got time, Dean.”

“Dammit.” Dean dropped his head and nodded. “Ok. Alright, I…thanks, Bobby.” He hung up the phone, rather than answer any more questions. He needed to help Sam. Dean went and sat next to his brother again and put a hand to his shoulder. “Sammy. I’ve gotta go back out after this bitch.”

Sam grabbed hold of Dean’s wrist and held tight as he shook his head. “N-no. Dean…please.”

“No choice, Sam. The only way to stop the poison is to kill it.” Dean put on a smile for his brother and pried Sam’s fingers loose. “Won’t take me long alright? You just gotta hang on ‘til I’m done. You can do that.”

“Comin’ with…”

“Like hell!” Dean said angrily and stopped Sam’s piss-poor attempt at standing up. “You can barely walk, let alone aim a gun. I’m doin’ this, Sam and you’re stayin’ right the hell here where I know you’re safe. Don’t gimme any crap on this.” He stood and grabbed up the weapons bag, digging through it. “Never should’a let you talk me into letting you play bait-boy in the first place. Dammit!”

“N-not…your f-fault…god!” Sam couldn’t stop the scream as it rumbled up out of him and arched his back off the bed.

Dean took a step toward him, wanting to hold him down, to comfort him somehow and make it not hurt so much. He forced himself to walk away instead. He had to. “Sammy, I’m gonna be back as soon as I can. I swear. You just…I’ll be back.” Leaving Sam writhing in pain because of his bad decision was one of the harder things Dean had ever had to do, and he closed the motel room door on Sam’s cries with a tight feeling in his chest.

Sam heard the door shut and snapped his eyes open. “Dean?” He looked around the room but it was true…Dean had left. He was alone. Pain burned through him again and Sam tried to get up, to stand and go after his brother. He ended up in a heap on the floor, whimpering into the carpet and praying for the pain to stop while his fevered mind told him he deserved it. Sam shook his head and tried to rise again. He crawled to the end of the beds and realized his mouth felt parched like a desert.

“Sh…shit,” Sam gasped, panting for air and heedless of the tears that rolled down his face out of his control. He managed only a couple of feet toward the little refrigerator before the pain took him down again. Sam screamed again. His voice was going hoarse, cracking and starting to fail. He hated that he couldn’t keep the screams down. The agony just seemed to rip them out of him and he was exhausted. Sam lay on the floor heaving for breath and felt like he hadn’t slept in a decade or more. He was so tired and so tired of hurting and he couldn’t even escape by passing out thanks to the poison.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean stalked through the forest, intent on his purpose and hating that his little brother had to spend Christmas screaming. He wondered if Sam even knew what day it was and then rolled his eyes with a soft snort. Of course he did. Sam always remembered the holidays while Dean usually forgot. Not this year. This year with Dad gone…Dean sniffed and pushed the thoughts away. He was going to make sure his little brother got to see next Christmas and spend it not screaming in agony.

The sound of a branch snapping nearby froze Dean in his tracks. He’d traded the pistol for a shotgun and raised it, turning and moved soundlessly to follow the source of the noise. He’d strapped his favorite machete to his hip, having decided that even something as mean and ugly as the nautilous couldn’t survive long without its head. He rolled his shoulders, settling his pack more securely and picked up his pace when he heard the angry, heavy breathing of something close.

Dean saw movement ahead and hoped this time it was the creature. In the last two hours, he’d crept up on two wolves and one really pissed off rabbit. He couldn’t even think of how badly it was going for his brother while he was gone or he’d lose focus. He pushed slowly through a screening of overhanging branches and a dangerous smile lit his face. The nautilous was there before him with its back to Dean as it crunched the bones of some poor, unsuspecting wolf. Dean could see the gray and white tail dangling limply over the nautilous’ shoulder. He took another step closer and readied himself with a deep breath.

“Hey! Ugly!” Dean shouted. The wolf’s carcass dropped to the ground with a wet thump and the nautilous spun. Blood spattered from its tentacles through the air with the movement and Dean fired a load of rock salt into its head before it could move. The creature reared back, clawing at its own face with a scream.

Dean dropped the shotgun and pulled the machete free. “Let’s see just how tough that shell of yours is,” he snarled and took a swing.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Sam whispered into the ratty, motel carpet. He didn’t know how long he’d been muttering and begging for relief but it had been long enough to assure him that Dean had left and wasn’t coming back, and more than long enough for it to feel as if the unceasing pain was starting to tear at the edges of his sanity.

Sam sobbed out a breath and rolled to his side, holding his arms tight around himself. He’d earned this, this miserable death. He knew that. He’d had more than enough time to think about it in the hours since his big brother had left him. Sam felt fresh tears on his face and wasn’t surprised he was crying, only that he had moisture left in his body to do it with. He’d shot his big brother. The pain ratcheted up another level, leaving him crying into the carpet again as he writhed with the memory of pulling the trigger and seeing Dean thrown into the water.

Dean…Wandell. Sam ground his forehead into the carpet with agony tearing through him like knives and hoped death would take it all away from him soon. He remembered it now, though he hadn’t told Dean. He could remember the feeling of Wandell’s blood rushing over his hands as he slit his throat and it sickened him. The nightmares that had woken him every night since they’d exorcised Meg from him were always a horror show, bouncing back and forth between shooting his brother and the brutal murder of another Hunter.

Why would Dean even bother trying to save him? He wouldn’t, of course. The depth of that loss, coupled with the never-ceasing waves of pain stole the last of his breath and Sam welcomed it. At least dead, he wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. He felt worn down to nothing and broken. There was no part of him worth saving…or left to save. Sam was so wrapped in his own misery, in the bitter loop of self-hate, that it took him several long minutes to realize he was no longer face down on the floor or that a gentle hand cupped the side of his face, wiping tears from his cheek and a voice spoke reassuringly in his ear. He blinked his eyes open slowly, trying to see through the pained haze that covered his vision and his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. He shook his head.

“Yeah, buddy. Come on, Sammy. You gotta slow this down. I know it hurts.” Dean pulled Sam up and held his over-tall little brother against his chest. Finding his brother curled in a screaming, whimpering ball on the floor had shattered Dean’s calm when he came through the door. That and the tears that made Sam’s face glisten broke his heart. Sam’s ragged breaths gusted under his chin, and Dean kept hold of his face so Sam could see him. “I’m right here, Sam. It’s gonna stop, I promise. I killed the son of a bitch. It’ll stop in a few hours, Bobby said. You just gotta keep breathin’ til then, alright?”

“De…Dean?” Sam cried out as a fresh wave of agony went through his body and curled into the familiar chest, hearing his big brother’s heart beating under his ear. “C…came back?”

“What? Of course I came back! Why wouldn’t I?” Dean stared down at Sam in confusion, and then the misery on his little brother’s face registered…the misery he’d seen there for days now, every time Sam caught him rubbing his shoulder. “Son of a…Sammy, I would never leave you. You got that? Never. You’re my pain in the ass little brother. It’s my job to take care of you. Jesus, Sam.” He pulled him in and cupped a hand to the back of Sam’s head while his breaths hitched into Dean’s chest. “It’s not your fault, what happened. Meg, Wandell…that’s not on you, Sam. You gotta let it go now, man. It’s eating you up and you gotta stop.”

Sam sobbed a breath into his brother’s shirt and reached up to clench a fist in the shoulder of his jacket, silently communicating his gratitude as he shook with pain and exhaustion.

Dean sat on the floor and held his brother for two more hours before the nautilous’ venom finally ran its course with the creature dead. Sam’s body slowly went heavy in his arms, dark head lolling against his chest and Dean realized he’d slipped, at last, into unconsciousness without the poison to force him awake.

“Ok, Sammy,” Dean said softly. He eased his brother away a little and uncurled his legs with a grimace of discomfort for spending so long in the awkward position. He smiled a little when he had to pry Sam’s fingers from his jacket even in sleep and wrapped his arms around Sam’s chest, careful of the injuries. Dean maneuvered Sam’s long, now limp, body up and back onto his bed. He laid him out and carefully bandaged each wound before tugging the blanket up over him. He rested a hand on Sam’s chest over his heart and blew out a breath of relief.

“Get some sleep, little brother,” Dean whispered, smiled and headed for the door. He had some work to do before his brother woke up.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking sluggishly as his eyes adjusted to the muted light coming in through the window over his head. For a second, he was confused with no memory of having gone to bed, and then the events of the night before flooded into his mind and he gasped. He bolted upright in bed and slapped a hand to his shoulder and the bandages there.

“Hey, hey! Careful! You’ll ruin my handiwork,” Dean said and smiled as he sat beside his brother on the bed and took a good look at him. “How you feelin’?”

“I…” Sam stopped and tried to really think about that question and he realized that he hurt…everywhere. “Crap…sore.”

Dean nodded. “Figured you would be. That poison really put you through the ringer.”

“I’m ok…I think. Other than, you know, sore.” Sam looked up at Dean and remembered how he had spent hours convinced his big brother had left him and kicked himself now in the daylight for the ridiculousness of that thought. Dean never would and, with a clear head, he knew it like he knew the earth revolved around the sun. He gave Dean a small smile. “Dean…thanks.”

Dean patted a bandage back in place and shrugged. “Couldn’t let you kick it on Christmas, Sammy.”

“Christmas?” Sam asked in surprise and realized that it was. He’d completely forgotten. “Holy shit!”

“Yeah, Christmas.” Dean chuckled and stood, giving Sam a hand up. “Santa came in the night while you were havin’ your little beauty sleep.”

Sam looked around the motel room with fresh eyes and his jaw fell open. Dean had found a string of lights somewhere and hung them over the wall above the little television. He’d unearthed an anemic little tree and strung it with lights and dented beer cans and there were even several, newspaper-wrapped presents underneath it. “You did this,” Sam whispered and looked at Dean with damp eyes. “For me.”

Dean shrugged, uncomfortable with the adoring look in his little brother’s eyes, no matter that it had been there since Sam was old enough to walk. “S’Christmas, dude. Of course I did something. Here.” He grabbed the presents and shoved them into Sam’s hands.

Sam stared down at them and looked up at his brother. He sniffed and lowered his head again so Dean wouldn’t see the grateful tears crowding his eyes. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean smiled and nodded at Sam’s gruff, emotion-filled voice and stood, clasping a hand to his uninjured shoulder for a moment. “Whatever, bitch.” He chuckled and left Sam to open his gifts. They were the usual impromptu, Winchester gifts and he smiled when Sam laughed at the two copies of Hustler magazine. He grabbed the jug from the table and two cups and brought them back, sitting on the bed next to Sam. “Here.” He poured a measure of eggnog into each and handed one to Sam. “Probably shouldn’t be pouring whiskey into ya’ right now but what the hell, it’s Christmas.”

Sam took a sip and quirked a brow. “There’s whiskey in here?”

“Shuddup.” Dean smirked at Sam’s laugh. “No, I didn’t pour the whole damn bottle in like you. Be happy you’re gettin’ any. You just spent half the night tryin’ not to die.”

Sam sobered and set the eggnog aside. “Dean.” He leaned back against the headboard and looked at his brother. “You know I…I only thought you weren’t coming back because I was out of my mind with pain.”

“Better be the only damn reason,” Dean said seriously and slapped Sam’s knee before moving to the other bed. “Now, can we end this chick flick and turn the game on? Steelers should be kickin’ the Bengals’ asses by now.”

Sam gave a watery laugh and grabbed his eggnog again. “Pretty sure the Bengals have a better team this year.”

“Blasphemy!” Dean yelled and turned the television on with the remote, flicking through the channels for the game. “Steelers are the come-back kings, dude. Polamalu makes the Bengals quarterback piss his pants.”

Sam laughed and felt the weight of the horror he’d survived last night finally slip away as he relaxed back into the bed. “Pretty sure Polamalu makes every quarterback piss their pants. The guy’s not human.”

Dean waggled his brows at Sam and tossed the remote aside as the game came on. “Maybe we should check him out. You know…make sure he’s not a shifter or something.”

“Werecheetah. Do they have those?” Sam grinned when Dean burst into laughter.

“If they do, he’s one of them.” Dean reached over with his eggnog and tapped the cup against Sam’s. “Merry Christmas, little brother.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Sam smiled, happy to be alive and have the sort of big brother who’d never leave him to die no matter what. “Wish I’d had the chance to get you something.”

Dean nodded and looked over, meeting Sam’s watery eyes for just a moment before looking away. “Already got mine, Sammy.”

Sam had to cough to clear the lump in his throat with those soft words. He rubbed at his eyes and then moved as well as he could up off his bed and across to sit next to his brother. “Shut up. I’m cold and you’re like a space heater.”

Dean gave a soft laugh and moved over to make room for Sam, letting him sit beside him until he was leaning heavily on his shoulder. “Big girl,” Dean said with a soft smile. He tugged his leather jacket up from the foot of the bed and gave it a practiced twitch so it settled over Sam. If it gave him a warm sort of feeling in his gut that his little brother instantly snuggled under the familiar weight and rested his head on his shoulder in pretty much the exact same way he always did when he was younger and was hurt or sick or scared…well…Dean was never going to admit to it. He had his little brother alive for Christmas. That was all he needed.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	4. For hyb108

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Hyb108 - For my one-shot...A pre-series fic with the three Winchesters, in which Sam has an altercation with Dean and John. Whatever it is, it's not his fault, but the other two are too stubborn to admit it. By the time they get around to it, Sam is already paying the price for their mistake.
> 
> A/N: Did some brainstorming with my lovely Beta, JaniceC678 (who is betaing all these btw :D)and came up with a scenario that hopefully won’t feel recycled as this prompt is popular fodder for us writers. Sam 14/Dean 18

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam watched his dad and his brother packing and glared at them, both out of anger at them and fear for them. They were so sure. “Dean…”

“Sam, knock it off,” John said severely and didn’t have to look to know his youngest was standing there with his thin arms crossed over his chest and a look meant to melt stone on his fourteen-year-old face. “We’ve talked about this and it’s done now.”

“No, it’s not!” Sam said in a near shout. “You’re just not listening to me because you still think I’m a stupid kid, and it’s gonna get you both hurt!”

“Dude.” Dean handed a sawed-off shotgun to his father and went to his brother, hoping to head off the second tantrum that night before their dad’s patience gave out and Sam paid for it. “We’re gonna be fine. You know that. We always come back.” Dean took Sam’s shoulders in his hands and looked down at him with a tight smile. The kid had shot up over the last year, but Dean still had half a foot on him. “You’re an awesome researcher, Sammy but this time you’re off. It’s no big deal.”

“I am NOT off!” Sam shook off his big brother’s hands and glared at him. “There are two creatures out there! Two! And you’re only gearing up for one of them!”

“Sammy,” Dad’s voice was a snarl of barely-controlled temper and he rounded on his youngest. “Drop it. Now. It’s a wendigo. All the evidence points to it. Even your research says it’s a wendigo.”

“And a wechuge! Dammit, dad! I’m right!” Sam yelled and then sucked in a breath while Dean covered his own face with his hand. His father took two menacing steps toward him. He steeled himself because no matter how pissed off his father got, he wasn’t prepared to lose his family just because they wouldn’t listen to him. He straightened his shoulders and stuck out his chin. “I’m right, and a flare gun to the heart won’t kill a wechuge. You’ll just piss it off. It’s a cousin…”

“To the wendigo, I know!” John cut a hand through the air. “And no one’s seen one south of the Canadian border ever!”

“Until now!” Sam turned to his brother, hoping to find him more reasonable. “Dean, please! You have to believe me.”

“I believe you think you’re right, buddy.” Dean shook his head and patted his little brother’s shoulder. “But I gotta go with dad on this one. I mean, seriously. What are the odds that both creatures decide to set up shop in the same back woods of northern Oregon? Come on, Sam.”

“But the frostbitten victims…” Sam started and his father cut him off.

“It’s winter, Sam! Of course they’re frostbitten! Enough!” John bellowed. He grabbed Sam’s arm, ignoring the instant, dark and rebellious look on Dean’s face and gave his youngest a shove toward the hall. “You’re staying here. I’m not having you arguing with us while we’re tracking a wendigo. You’ll get us all killed.” He pushed Sam down the short hall and into the bedroom he was sharing with his older brother. “We’ll be back by morning or maybe the day after. Don’t gimme any more crap on this, Sammy.” He said darkly and slammed the door on Sam’s angry face. He stalked back into the living room and raised a finger to Dean. “Don’t you even start with me, Ace. I am NOT in the mood right now.”

Dean snapped his mouth closed and swallowed the angry words he’d been about to throw at his father for manhandling his brother. “Fine.” They finished packing and Dean was surprised that Sam actually stayed in his room the whole time. He’d expected him to come right back out and carry on the argument, but for once, it looked like Sam had decided to keep his mouth closed instead of picking a fight with their father.

“Let’s go,” John ordered and motioned Dean out the door ahead of him. He gave one, short look back to the empty hall and blew out a breath. While he loved that Sam was so damn intelligent and becoming an independent man in his own right, it was damn frustrating at the same time when he wouldn’t listen to orders as easily as his older brother. He pulled the door of the little house closed behind him and followed Dean’s stiff, unhappy shoulders out the driveway. “Get in. I’m driving.”

Dean staggered to a stop and raised a hand. “Uh, naw I’m good.” He turned back to the Impala and groaned when his dad grabbed his arm and gave him a push to his truck instead. “Dad, come on!”

“You really want to drive a classic car up that mountain road?” John gave him a last push to the passenger door. “You’d be cleaning mud, snow and salt off her for a week. Get in.”

Sam watched from his bedroom window as their dad forced Dean into his truck, leaving the Impala behind to gleam darkly in the streetlight. He watched the big, black pickup pull away from the house and vanish down the road and then he twitched the curtain closed with a small, grim smile. “Thanks, dad,” Sam said softly, pulled on his coat and went quickly back out to the kitchen. He grabbed up his discarded backpack and hastily filled it with two flashlights, a canteen, a small first aid kit and some energy bars. He slid his knife into the sheath on his thigh and grabbed the small handgun Dean had given him for his birthday, shoving it into the back of his pants. Sam pulled open the drawer next to the phone in the kitchen and smiled, taking out the spare set of keys for the Impala.

“Sorry, Dean. You’ll forgive me later.” Sam left the house, locking it up behind him and jogged down the drive to the sleek, black car. He popped the trunk and rummaged through the hidden compartment, shoving a few more odds and ends into his pack before he slapped it closed and got behind the wheel. “I hope you forgive me later,” Sam said and turned the engine over.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean moved silently at his father’s side through the night-darkened forest and tugged his jacket more tightly across his chest. It was close to freezing, and while the snow had stopped two days before, there was still a good foot of it on the ground they walked over. The trees around them were crusted in white and just seemed to make him colder as he looked at the boughs glistening in the beams from their flashlights.

“Dean.”

His father’s soft voice spurred Dean into a faster walk and he looked to where his dad was pointing. A pair of booted feet stuck out from beneath a cover of brush between two trees ahead of them, and Dean looked around the forest with wary eyes. He nodded to his father’s raised brow and turned to watch the forest behind them with his flare gun raised. “Got it.”

John gave a small smile and knelt next to the body, trusting Dean to watch his back. He pulled some of the branches away and grabbed hold of a leg, tugging until he had the body dragged out into the snow. “Damn,” he said softly and shook his head. “Poor sucker.” The man’s heavy, winter coat was torn open in a bloody mess. Fluffy bits of the coat’s lining were stuck to the body with freezing, drying blood like some macabre, stuffed child’s toy. John pulled the remains of the coat away from the man’s chest and grimaced at the chunks of flesh and bone torn from his body. He brushed his fingers over the blue, clearly frostbitten skin above his collar and sat back. “Wish we knew how long this guy’s been out here.”

Dean glanced back and down for a quick look and then whipped his head back at the crack of a branch. “Dad,” he said in a fierce whisper. The sound came again and he held his breath, tracking the smallest movement in the trees beyond where the beam from his flashlight could not reach. “It’s over there.”

“You see it?” John raised his own flare gun and sighted along Dean’s.

“Saw something.” Dean gave a small shrug. “Could’a been a deer, I guess.”

John shook his head, trusting his eldest’s instincts. Another snap of wood breaking under a heavy weight made his body vibrate with tension. “Remember. They’re damn fast.”

“I know,” Dean said and he did. He’d read his brother’s research well. A dark shape dropped suddenly into view between two trees a mere dozen yards away and his finger tensed on the flare gun’s trigger.

“Not yet,” John whispered. “Let it get closer. Don’t wanna miss and piss it off. Come on. Come on.” He took a step ahead of his son, hopefully making himself a tasty target and watched the too-tall shadow sway in the flicker of light from their flashlights.

Dean took a step to the right to keep his father out of his line of fire. He kept the gun trained on the wendigo’s shadow as it moved closer in a burst of speed that made his skin crawl. “Bitch is really fast. Damn.”

“Don’t take your eyes off it.” John ordered softly.

Dean nodded, waiting for the wendigo to come just a bit closer and give them the clear shot they needed to put an end to the thing. He steadied his right hand and the gun with his left and took a deep breath, preparing to fire and jerked in shock at the soft sound of a branch breaking behind them. His mouth fell open as he turned his head, feeling in that moment like every idiot in every slasher film he’d ever yelled at on the tv with his little brother, and he saw it -- a second shape in the trees just behind them. The vaguely man-shaped creature was shorter and, as a shaft of light from the moon broke through the cloud cover above to shine down upon it, he saw that its desiccated skin was a pale blue covering of wrinkled flesh over visible bone that held it like a badly fit canvass. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Dad…Dad, Sam was right. He was…” Dean’s words cut off as he tried to turn in time to meet the rush of the wechuge, but he was too slow. It was too close and it slammed into him, taking him in a jumble into his father and rolling all three of them across the snow-covered ground.

John grunted with the weight of his eldest son on his back. He spit snow and tried to roll. “Dean!” He shouted when he heard his son give a pained cry. He planted his arms in the snow and shoved. John grabbed his flare gun and rolled to his back as the weight left him. He gasped in horror to see the pale blue creature crouched above Dean and fired his flare gun at the creature’s chest even as it slashed a wicked, clawed hand across Dean’s chestto spray blood in a glistening arc across the trampled snow. The wechuge, for that was what it was, just as Sam had warned them, screamed and reared back as the flames from the flare licked at its body. John watched the creature he’d read about in Sam’s research brush the offending flare away and tower over them unharmed. John pulled Dean to him with an arm, trying not to feel overcome with hopelessness when he came into his arms without a sound or a movement.

“Dean,” John breathed and curled his arms protectively around his eldest son. He turned his head and saw the wendigo approaching from the cover of the trees behind them and realized they were going to die. He saw the flare gun still gripped in Dean’s hand and reached down for it, though killing the wendigo wouldn’t save them from the wechuge. He said a silent thanks for a moment that at least Dean wouldn’t be awake for it, would be spared that particular horror at the hands of the creature, and then felt despair grip him as Dean stirred toward wakefulness in his arms. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered and took Dean’s flare into his own hand as he listened to the wendigo crunch closer through the snow at his back. “Should have trusted Sam. God help me, I should have listened. This is my fault.”

“D…dad?” Dean forced his eyes open and couldn’t find room to breathe around the pain searing through his chest. His arms and legs felt leaden, but his heart began to pound as he realized he was being held by his father while the wechuge loomed over them. He tried to kick his legs, to push back and away, but his movements were sluggish and far too slow to save himself or his dad. The chilling reality that they were going to die slammed through him and drove a tear from his eyes knowing that Sam would be left alone because they were too stubborn to listen…because Dean had turned his back on him when he damn well knew better. “Sammy,” he said in an agonized whisper as the wechuge bent for him again.

John tightened his arm around Dean and readied himself to take his one shot at the wendigo before it could reach them. He stared in shock when some sort of dart struck the wechuge and the creature gave a rage-filled scream in response. “What?” John gasped.

Dean blinked as a second dart joined the first and tried to make sense of what was happening in his fevered mind. Surely he must be hallucinating, he thought, as his little brother suddenly streaked into the clearing and fired a third dart at the wechuge before giving a loud yell and vanishing back into the trees. “S…Sam?”

The wechuge, all interest lost in the two humans on the ground, turned and sprinted after the one who had hurt it as it howled its anger. John shook his head once and then made use of the distraction. He twisted and fired their last flare straight into the wendigo’s heart with a curl of fear for just how close it had come. It was a mere foot away and John could feel the heat from the thing as it screamed and burned, crumpling to the ground in a pile of ash.

“Dad!” Dean mustered what little strength he had and pushed at the arm holding him. “Was that Sam?”

“Yeah.” John could hardly believe it himself. Somehow, his youngest son had followed them and arrived at the last moment to save both their lives from their own stubbornness. “We gotta get up. You stand?” He looked down at Dean and got a weary nod in response, at odds with the frantic look on his face.

“Gotta find him.” Dean let his father pull him up so he was sitting and folded over his clawed chest with a groan of pain. His head shot up at the sound of a gun firing somewhere nearby. “Sam!” he called out but the only response was another scream from the wechuge. There was another shot followed by two more and the wechuge’s howls cut off suddenly. The forest was left in a heavy silence that seemed to stretch on endlessly and made both older Winchesters fear for the life of the youngest.

“Come on, Dean,” John said at last and shook off the paralysis that held him. He stood and brought Dean up with him slowly, trying not to think too hard about the amount of blood staining the front of his eldest’s shirts. He took a quick look, relieved to not see bone through the deep gashes, but it was bad enough.

Dean pushed his father’s hands away and pointed. “That way…the gunshots came from there. Dad.”

“I know. We’ll hurry.” John started them moving in a stumbling gait through the snow and into the trees. He followed the shoe impressions Sam had left in the snow as he’d run and drawn off the wechuge.

Dean fought to keep moving, to keep his legs underneath him and not give in to the need to simply curl up on the ground and huddle around his wounded chest while crying. He needed to find his brother. “Sam!” Dean called again and wrapped an arm over his bloodied chest when the effort shot even more pain through him.

“Take it easy, Ace. We’re gonna find him. He’s fine.” John listened hard but still heard nothing and it made his heart hurt. “He has to be fine. Sammy? You answer me!”

“Dad.” Dean pointed ahead of them to where the body of the wechuge was sprawled in the snow. Blood pooled under the thing’s body, turning the snow into red slush, and he found the energy to take his own weight and walk faster. “Sam! Sammy?”

“Wait, Dean!” John made a grab for him as Dean angled toward the creature. He drew his pistol from his back and aimed at the wechuge in case it wasn’t dead. It hadn’t burned into ash like the wendigo, and he wasn’t going to trust it until he was sure. He wished now he’d paid more attention to the careful research Sam had done. “Be careful, dammit!”

Dean growled softly under his breath and staggered around the wechuge and around a screen of bushes. “Sammy!” He forgot his own pain when he saw his brother finally and ran the last few yards to where he lay. “Dad! He’s here! Oh, God, Sam. Please be ok.”

John gave the wechuge’s carcass a kick, and, satisfied that it was truly dead, he followed the sound of Dean’s voice and felt the blood rush out of his head. Sam lay in the snow face down in the center of a circle of spattered blood. A dart gun lay by one of his hands, and his other still gripped the handle of a .45. John’s mind refused to accept that he was dead, in spite of how still and broken his baby boy looked. “Sammy,” he whispered and knelt next to Sam across from Dean. “No, don’t move him yet. Hang on.” He gently pushed Dean’s hands off his brother’s jacket and put shaking fingers to Sam’s neck, under the long hair he was still trying to get the boy to cut. “Be there, dammit. Please be there.”

Dean watched his father’s face and saw the moment he found Sam’s pulse in the profound relief that flowed over his face. He sagged and took hold of his little brother’s arm, helping his father to carefully roll him over. Dean sucked in a horrified breath with the sight of Sam’s chest. Like his own, it was covered in blood, and the wechuge had torn great rents in his shirts. “Sammy.” He hovered a hand over the wounds, unsure where to touch him.

John leaned down and held his ear over his youngest son’s mouth. He closed his eyes, dizzy with relief when he heard the shallow breaths passing his lips. “He’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s gonna be fine.”

“Dad, look at him!” Dead said in disbelief. “He’s torn up!”

“And he’ll be fine,” John said firmly because he wouldn’t allow it to be any other way. This was all his fault, and he’d be damned if it cost him Mary’s baby boy. He smoothed a hand through Sam’s hair as Dean rested a hand on Sam’s throat and sighed. “Gotta get you both out of here. You’re both going to the hospital. Cougar attack, alright?” He waited for Dean to look up and give him a nod. “Just another hunting trip gone bad. Ok.” He slid an arm under Sam’s shoulders and sat him up slowly and slid his other arm under Sam’s knees. Getting to his feet was an effort, but he managed it, refusing to stumble and drop his precious cargo. “Dean?”

“I’m good,” Dean said breathlessly as he made himself stand. He walked alongside his father and kept a hand up and clasped around his brother’s shoulder, needing the contact to reassure himself. The walk back and out of the forest seemed to take forever to him, and he knew, in a disconnected sort of way, that they were going more slowly because of him, that his dad had eased up on his pace to help him stay on his feet. Dean nearly went to his knees in relief when they came out of the trees and saw his dad’s truck. Relief then gave way to anger when he saw the Impala parked alongside the truck. “Sammy, you…you bitch,” he said in a hoarse growl and looked over at his little brother’s pale face. “You wake up so…so I can kick your ass…stealin’ my baby.”

John smiled grimly and went to the Impala rather than his truck. They needed the extra room her seats provided. “You get in the back with him. Hold on to him, alright?”

“Couldn’t…couldn’t stop me,” Dean said firmly and he leaned on his car for just a moment before pulling the back door open. He dropped tiredly onto the bench seat in the back and then slid across, reaching his arms out for his little brother as his dad knelt and maneuvered Sam inside.

“Watch his head,” John said and knew he didn’t need to as Dean took careful hold of his little brother and ended up stretched on the back seat with Sam resting against his chest, dark head tucked protectively under his chin, totally ignoring the added pain the pressure put on his own lacerated flesh. John closed the door and took a second to lean his head on the cold, black metal of the roof and settle his nerves and the frantic pounding of his heart. He’d nearly lost both his sons and his own life tonight, all because he’d too easily discounted Sam’s research. Never again, he promised himself and went quickly around the car, sliding behind the wheel. He looked at his boys in the rearview mirror, pale, bloodied and huddled together like Dean could keep all the evils of the world at bay if he just held Sam tightly enough, and John swallowed hard. Never again.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

John stood in the door of his sons’ room in the hospital and just watched them for a moment. He quirked a small smile because Dean had climbed out of his bed in the ten minutes John had been gone and was now laid out beside his brother in Sam’s bed, like he needed to be next to him to be sure he was alive and well. Both boys’ chests were swaddled in bandages, and John was thankful the emergency room staff had accepted his story of a cougar attack without batting an eye. The police had given him a firm lecture about camping in the Oregon backwoods in winter with his sons and he’d taken it humbly, eager to have them leave. John walked into the room quietly and went to stand beside the bed. “He’ll wake up,” he said softly, seeing the line of tension in Dean’s back that said he was awake and alert. “You should be resting, Dean.”

“I am resting.” Dean squeezed Sam’s arm again where he held on to him and watched his little brother’s face. “My bed’s lumpy.”

“Uh huh.” John smirked and shook his head, dropping into the chair to sit where he could watch Sam’s face as well. “The doctor said he’ll be alright. The lacerations are deep, but they didn’t hit anything vital, and, uh…two broken ribs, so we’re gonna be taking a couple weeks off to let him heal up.”

Dean snorted. “Gee. A whole couple weeks.”

“Don’t, Dean,” John said before his son could start in on him. He felt guilty enough already and he knew Dean did as well. They had both ignored Sam.

“Sorry,” Dean said quietly and then lifted his head suddenly to look down at Sam’s face. “Sammy?” He’d felt Sam’s arm tense under his hand and as he watched, saw Sam’s eyes begin to shift beneath his closed lids. “That’s it, little brother. Wake up. Come on. Sam.”

John stood and leaned over them, taking Sam’s hand in his own in a tight grip. “Wake up, tiger.”

Sam opened his eyes as the world came slowly back into focus. The first thing he was aware of was the burning ache in his chest, then the comforting pressure of his hand and his arm being held, of gentle fingers carding back through his hair and he knew that touch, had known it all his life. He blinked to focus his eyes and found Dean smiling down at him. He turned his head and saw his father leaning over him as well. “Hey.”

Dean grinned at Sam’s hoarse voice. It was the most beautiful thing he’d heard in days. “Hey, yourself. About time you woke up and joined the party.” His smile faltered when Sam grimaced suddenly. “Don’t try to move, ok? It’ll just make it hurt worse.”

The memory of the forest and the creatures suddenly came back to Sam in a rush -- the image of his father holding his bloodied, deathly still brother and his desperation in drawing the wechuge away from them…killing it. He gasped and tried to sit up. “Dean!”

“Easy!” John caught Sam, sliding an arm behind his back before he could fall back to the bed as he gasped frantic, pained breaths. He eased his youngest son back to the bed and Dean. “No moving, Sammy. You’ve got two broken ribs.”

“Crap,” Sam panted for breath and took comfort in the solid weight of Dean’s hand against his neck. “That…that really hurts.”

“No kidding,” Dean said ruefully and gestured at his own chest when Sam opened his eyes. “Didn’t break any ribs, but we’re matching mummies for a while, dude.”

Sam managed a small smile and tried to slow his breathing. “Did…did I get it?”

John blew out a breath and sat on the sliver of bed not taken up by his sons. He squeezed his son’s hand. “Yeah, Sammy. You got him,” he said quietly and waited for Sam’s eyes to meet his. “You saved our lives, and…I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.”

“We should have,” Dean added and nodded at Sam’s surprised look. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I swear it’ll never happen again.” He smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand harder. “But we’re gonna have a talk about you stealin’ my car.”

Sam laughed again, wincing when it made his ribs pull painfully. “Had…had to. S’what you…you would have done.”

John saw Sam’s face paling as he fought to keep his eyes open and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Go to sleep, Sammy. We’ll be here when you wake up again.” He brushed a lock of overlong hair out of Sam’s eyes as he stilled and smiled when he instinctively turned his head to rest under his big brother’s chin. No matter how old Sam got, he never grew out of needing that comfort when he was hurt. “You too, Dean. Sleep.”

Dean lowered his head to the pillow above his brother’s. “I ain’t movin’.”

John chuckled and sat in his chair again. “Didn’t think you would be. Sleep already, son. I’ll be right here.” It was a tacit assurance that he would keep watch over them both so Dean could sleep, knowing Sam was safe and looked after. He watched his eldest settle in beside his youngest, and the fact that Dean had put himself between Sam and the door was not lost on him. He could console himself, at the least, with knowing he’d done that much right. There was nothing Dean wouldn’t do to protect Sam. He rested his head on the back of the chair and blew out a slow, quiet breath, finally allowing himself to relax now that he knew for sure Sam wouldn’t pay for his bull-headedness with his life. “Never again,” he mouthed soundlessly as he looked at his sons, repeating the silent promise to himself that he had made in the car. Never again would he be forced to watch one of his children die because of him.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	5. For BackgroundRobot-11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For BackgroundRobot-11 - I think I have an idea. It involves Sam and Dean sort of discussing their own humanity and their methods. See, it sort of bothers me that ever since they got Ruby's knife, they've barely exercised the demons they encounter, instead just killing both the demon and their vessel outright. Not to mention how they seem to have completely forgotten poor Adam. He's been in the cage for how many years now?
> 
> A/N: In order to add guilt about Adam, I’ve set this in season 6 after Sam has his soul back. Post 6x14 “Mannequin 3 the Reckoning”. :D Hope you enjoy it, dear!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam turned in the dark hall for a look over his shoulder and heard the sound of heavy feet following. He blew out a breath and ran faster, pumping his legs while air burned in his chest as he hit a fifth flight of stairs and started up them. Distantly, he wished they’d made this plan down on the first floor as he banged into a wall, bounced off, and started up the last flight.

“Dean!” Sam called hoarsely and started down the hall. The footsteps were closer; the thing following him had no need to worry about catching its breath, and he found more energy somewhere to run even faster. He was reaching for the door of the room they’d agreed on when raw force hit him square in the back. Sam was propelled forward to crash into the door and through it into the room. He slid and rolled along the floor and came to a stop against the back wall, heaving for air. Sam lifted his head just in time to watch the demon-possessed man slam through the door with a menacing grin, take a step toward him, and then stagger to a stop in shock. Sam smiled. “Oops,” he said breathlessly to the demon and reached an arm out to his side. “Next time…you’re doing…the running. Five flights, dude.”

Dean chuckled and came out of the shadows to grab his little brother’s arm and pull him up. “Quit whining.” He brushed his hands over Sam’s dusty hair and down his back. “You good?” Sam gave him a nod and he pushed him gently to the side. “Bottle of water on the table. So!” Dean turned with a dangerous smile to look at their captive as it paced the confines of the devil’s trap drawn on the ceiling and snarled. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“PISS off, Winchester!” The demon growled and banged his fists on the invisible barrier while it glared death at him.

“Bet you’re pissed you fell for that, huh?” Dean said with a smirk. He pulled the demon killing knife from the small of his back and held it up so the thing could see it. “Your days of luring co-eds to their deaths in here are done, asshole.”

The demon threw his hands up and leaned against the wall of his prison. “Took you long enough. Six damn months!”

“I…wait. What?” Dean frowned and shared a confused look with his brother.

“You two been taking a damn vacation or what?” The demon rolled his eyes. “You didn’t think maybe this was a _little_ obvious? Well, I mean, apparently not for you. Do you know how many Hunters we had to quietly knock off until you two morons finally took notice?” He snorted. “Daddy’s little bulbs aren’t the brightest in the box, huh?”

“Oh, crap. Dean?” Sam picked up the shotgun loaded with rock salt and looked out the windows. “Nothing outside.”

“You lured us?” Dean raised a brow and pointed up to the devil’s trap. “Not much of a plan, genius.”

“Dean. He said ‘we’.” Sam looked at his brother and then over to the demon. “There are more of you in here?”

“And the mutant wins the Kewpie doll!” the demon said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. He straightened and stood fearlessly under Dean’s angry gaze. “We owe you. You don’t think you and your pet angel get to kill the King of Hell and just walk away? Really?”

There was a sudden commotion in the hall and Dean tensed. “Sammy!” He stepped forward and slammed the demon killing knife into the demon’s chest, watching the light flare behind his eyes before he slumped in death. Dean dragged him out of the devil’s trap and dropped the body off to the side. The trap was their single line of defense now, and he only hoped there weren’t too many of them.

“Here!” Sam tossed his brother a flask of holy water and spared a moment to look down at the dead demon…Sam shook his head…the dead MAN…and said a silent apology to him, wherever the poor soul had gone.

“You stay back there and start chanting when they get in.” Dean stuck his head briefly out the door and then flattened his back along the wall beside it. “Got four comin’ down the hall.”

“They’ll never let me finish the exorcism,” Sam pointed out as he moved back to try and stay out of the demons’ line of sight as long as possible.

“Should piss ‘em off enough to distract them, at least.” Dean grinned dangerously and then grunted as he was thrown from the wall into the room while the wall shook in a shower of dust behind him. “Crap,” he groaned and rolled to his knees as he heard Sam’s voice raise up and fill the room with Latin. The first demon through the door stumbled into Dean’s devil’s trap while the second received a face full of holy water that left him smoking and screaming as he staggered back. Dean knifed the new demon in the trap and pulled his blade free as a third leaped heedlessly through the door and into him. The demon’s body was caught against the invisible wall of the trap in a sudden stop, while Dean slid on his back over the floor to fetch up against the far wall like his brother had.

Sam took a step toward Dean to help and stopped when his brother shook his head in warning. He kept up the exorcism instead, speaking the words as quickly as he dared, but then the remaining two demons appeared in the door. One of them reached up to scuff out a line of the devil’s trap and free the third while his brother was suddenly picked up and pinned to the wall with a pained groan. Sam kept chanting even as he dove across the room and scooped up the fallen knife.

Dean watched his little brother wade into the demons while continuing the exorcism, though he knew they’d never let him finish. Sam killed the demon that had struck Dean as it tried to rise, pushed the body back into the one that had freed it, and slammed the blade home into the last demon. It proved to be the one whose powers held Dean captive as he slid to the floor with a thump at the demon’s death.

The final demon wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Sam grunted as hands like vices gripped his throat and squeezed, cutting off his air and ending the exorcism he was within a sentence of finishing. He choked with the pressure and tried to free the knife from the chest of the demon he’d killed.

“Big…bastard. Goin’ down, Sammy!” The demon growled it into his ear as he squeezed harder and heard the last trickle of air escape Sam’s lips while his knees began to buckle. “Too bad you shoved Lucifer back in his cage. No one left to save your ass now, is…” His words died on a choked gargle when his head was yanked back and a flask of holy water was forced into his mouth.

Dean watched steam pour up from inside the demon while Sam fell to his knees. He let the thing go and scrambled to the demon with the knife standing from its back. “Hang on, Sammy,” he whispered. Dean pulled the knife free and lunged back to the demon before he could regain his feet. He shoved the knife into the demon’s chest and rode him to the floor, watching the red light flash beneath his skin. Dean pulled the blade out of the dead man’s chest and went to his brother.

“Sam?” Dean dropped next to him and put an arm of his shoulders while Sam hacked and gasped, trying to catch his breath. He pulled him up from where Sam was curled over himself. “Hey, come on. Come here.” He pulled his brother’s chin up and grimaced at the bruises already forming on his neck. “Damn.”

“Ok…I’m ok,” Sam said in a choked voice and coughed. He looked around and raised a brow. “Any…any survivors?”

“You and me, little brother.” Dean grinned and pulled Sam to his feet. “Here. Take this and lemme pack up our crap.” He slipped the demon knife into his brother’s hand and only moved away once Sam gave him a nod.

Sam leaned against the wall while his head cleared and tried to listen for anyone else in the hall. He looked at the bodies littering the floor and felt a pang of guilt for the innocent men who’d died at their hands. “Dean.”

“Almost. Hang on.” Dean shoved the last of their holy water, the salt, and the shotgun into the duffel and then went to Sam. He took Sam’s arm and steered him out the door. “Let’s shag ass before more of those bastards come looking for these.”

Sam nodded and did his best to walk steadily as they descended five floors back, although his legs felt like spaghetti by the time they got down to the street and the welcome sight of the Impala parked under the light. “Here.” He handed the knife to his brother and collapsed into the passenger seat letting his head fall back.

Dean looked over at his brother several times on the drive back to the motel and knew there was some chick flick incoming. Sam had been too silent for too long, staring out the passenger window. He shook his head and pulled into the motel in front of their room. “Go on in. I’m gonna grab some ice for that pretty neck of yours.”

Sam rolled his eyes and got out. He let Dean jog away down the building and opened the door, stepping inside and went to the bathroom for his first look in the mirror as he flipped on the light. “Geez,” Sam groaned and lifted his chin as he looked at his reflection, running his fingers over the darkening ring of bruises in the shape of the demon’s fingers. He turned away and shrugged off his jacket before dropping to sit on the side of his bed and sighed.

Dean returned with a full bucket of ice and found his brother where he expected, sitting on his bed looking morose about something. He turned his head to hide the smirk as he grabbed a bag and filled it with ice. Sometimes Sam was so damn predictable. He schooled the amusement off his face before he turned back and tossed the bag to Sam. “Head’s up. How’s it feel?”

“Like someone tried to twist my head off,” Sam said ruefully and held the ice to his neck. He closed his eyes on a grateful moan while the cold began to seep in and soothe the ache. “Hey…Dean?”

“Uh huh.” Dean quickly grabbed two beers out of the little refrigerator, figuring he, at least, would need one by the time they were done with whatever this was going to be. He held one out to Sam and then went to sit at the little table. “Ok, what’s eatin’ you up?”

“We killed five people today.”

Dean stared in surprise. That hadn’t even been on his list of things his little brother would bring up. “Yeah. Five demons. It was a good day. What’s your point?”

“No, Dean. People.” Sam set the beer aside and leaned forward to look over at him. “We killed five innocent people today just to kill the demons inside them, and we didn’t…we didn’t even flinch. We don’t even…think about it anymore. We just kill them and there are people in there, Dean. Innocent, terrified people, and the last thing they see is our faces when we murder them!”

“Whoa! Where’s this comin’ from?” Dean stood and looked down at his brother. “Dude, we’re doin’ a public service. You know that.”

“We used to try and save them,” Sam said, trying to reign his emotions back in. He realized he’d nearly been yelling at the end there. “We used to…care that there are people in there. Why…when did we stop seeing the people?”

“Sam.” Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair in a bid for patience and took a deep breath. “We do save them. We are. We’re savin’ those poor bastards from a fate a lot worse than death.”

“They’re living people, Dean.”

“Bullshit, Sam. Odds are, they were long dead,” Dean said angrily. “You know demons aren’t picky about what condition their meat suits are in.”

“You don’t know that!” Sam rose from the bed while the guilt consumed him. “We don’t know that! They’re people with lives and families, and we just…we just kill them!”

“It’s a damn public service, Sam!” Dean shouted over top of him and waved his arms. “You think they wanna spend eternity being used as a puppet? Being forced to watch themselves doing horrible things to other people….like all those girls here?” Dean sighed as his temper drained away and met his brother’s eyes. Sam opened his mouth to make another argument and Dean stopped him in his tracks with a single word. “Meg.” Sam’s mouth hung open for a moment in shock as he stared with wide eyes and then he snapped it shut. Dean smiled sadly, hating himself a little for doing it but knowing that Sam needed to understand this. “We got lucky, me and Bobby. You know we did. That bitch…” Dean rubbed a hand through his hair again and sat on the bed across from his brother as Sam dropped back to with a weary thump. “She almost had us, dude. If Bobby hadn’t burnt that brand off your arm…”

“You’d have been forced to kill me to stop her,” Sam said softly and nodded.

“Or you would have gotten to watch her use your body to rip us apart. Just like Wandell. Only it would have been me and Bobby.” Sam paled and closed his eyes. He remembered all too well his horror at watching himself beat and murder the random Hunter Meg had selected. The idea that it could have been Dean and Bobby...  
  
“Sam, I swear. If we had the luxury of trapping every demon and exorcising them, we’d do it,” Dean said fiercely. “You know we would. I would. But how can we when they keep comin’ at us like that? We get ganked tryin’ to be soft-hearted, and it doesn’t do anyone any good.”

“I just…there has to be a better way.” Sam tossed the bag of ice to the bed and dropped his pounding head into his hands. “There’s got to be some way we can at least try to save more of them.”

“Sam.” Dean watched his brother, and the anguish was an almost visible cloud hanging around him. “Talk to me, dude. What brought this on? Why are you fallin’ apart over this now? I’m not sayin’ you’re wrong ‘cause…you’re not. And it sucks, but we do what we have to do, and I know you know that. So why now?” He heard Sam mumble something and Dean leaned forward to hear him. “What?” When the single word, the name, finally registered, Dean’s face went slack in shock and he reared back with a chill settling in his bones. “Sam… that’s not… I couldn’t… dammit.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly and lifted his head out of his hands. “I shouldn’t have said it. I know we’d save… save Adam if we could.”

Dean pushed up from the bed and strode away, needing to not be sitting for a moment and only barely restrained the urge to plant a fist in the wall. He carried more than his share of guilt over past decisions around with him, and there were few that weighed more heavily on him than Adam, the little brother he’d barely had time to know and been forced to leave behind. Dean had thought there wasn’t any place worse to be trapped than Hell. He’d been wrong. Eternity in a box with two pissed off archangels and you their only entertainment was worse. He knew, after being told by an angel, two demons, and Death himself, what it had done to Sam’s soul in the year he’d been there. The idea of that torment going on forever was unthinkable. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists while he swallowed the familiar, bitter taste of the guilt back into the hole he kept it in.

“Maybe…maybe he’s not down there.” Sam had no access to his memories of the Cage, but he clearly remembered everything before it…everything that happened in Stull. “Michael, he said Adam wasn’t there anymore. Maybe he sent his soul back to Heaven before the big showdown.” It was a slim hope at best, he knew, and Sam saw Dean shaking his head before he closed his eyes and lowered his own. He wasn’t sure he would ever get past the all-too visceral memory of nearly beating his big brother to death with his own fists, of feeling Dean’s bones snapping and cracking under his knuckles. The sensation of falling…it haunted him still. Sam woke sometimes in the night, jerking himself awake from a nightmare where he was endlessly falling toward something huge and black and terrifying and Adam’s face was always with him…Adam with the archangel Michael looking out from behind his eyes.

Sam gasped with a sudden sting on his face and opened his eyes to find Dean inches away and kneeling in front of him. He held Sam’s head in his hands with a look of fear on his face. “Yeah…sorry. I’m sorry. I’m ok.” Sam gasped it, feeling how his heart was pounding and his lungs starving for air.

“No scratching, Sammy. Jesus.” Dean said hoarsely and took his shoulders to give him a shake. He watched Sam’s face for a moment more until he was sure there wasn’t about to be a repeat of the Cage-induced seizure he’d had days before, and then he let him go to sit on the bed across from him.

“I wasn’t scratching. At least…not intentionally.” Sam rubbed the space between his eyes to alleviate the headache brewing there. “Crap.”

Dean blew out a breath of relief. He picked his beer back up again and grabbed Sam’s too, handing it to him. He bumped the side of his brother’s head with the bottle until Sam looked up with a grimace and took it. “Why do I let you start these conversations?”

Sam had to smile at that. “Because you’re an awesome big brother, or so you constantly remind me.”

“Oh, right.” Dean grinned and reached across to pick up the bag of ice. He pushed against his brother’s neck until Sam took hold of it and kept it there. “Look…”

“No. I know. I do.” Sam shook his head and managed another smile for him. “We free the ones we can from possession, and the rest…killing them to kill the demon is saving them.”

“And saving some other poor sucker down the road from ending up as a demonic condom,” Dean finished quietly. He raised his beer and drained it, then set it aside before catching Sam’s eyes again. “I’m always looking, Sammy. I don’t…” He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t think I’m gonna find a way to get Adam outta that hell hole. I think Death was my one shot, and that’s never happening again, but I’ve always got my eyes open.”

“I know.” Sam smiled again and this time he felt it. He raised his own beer and took a long drink. He did know that. However short a time they’d had to know him, Adam was family. “Dean…thanks.”

Dean snorted and got up. He went to the fridge and took out two more beers. “Crisis of conscience averted?” He asked as he passed a fresh one to his brother.

Sam groaned with a roll of his eyes and leaned back against the wall behind his bed to rest his head. “Yes, jerk.”

“Good.” Dean smiled. He sat on his own bed and picked up the remote, turning the television on. “Grab the phone and order us some pizza, bitch.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	6. For Zemyx1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For zemyx1995 - something…where the boys are out in the woods…hunting and Sam eats some berries or something, Sam has an allergic reaction... cue some trouble breathing, barely conscious Sammy and maybe Dean carrying him on his back with Sam going in and out of consciousness... and you can do whatever from there, also set any time except pre-series and season 4.
> 
> A/N: This one is set after 1x04 “Phantom Traveller”. :D Seemed like a good place to put it and boy did I have to do some digging to find something innocuous Sam could eat in a forest that could potentially cause a reaction in him but not in Dean. I’m not a doctor, clearly, so have done my best to avoid any specific medical mentions. I only use those in cases where I’m painfully familiar. Lmao

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean strode through the dense woods, leading ahead of his brother with a grin. He shoved another clump of branches out of his way and snickered under his breath when he heard the tell-tale thump and curse that said his little brother had taken a face-full yet again. That made him four for four, and he figured sooner or later Sam was going to snap and kick him for it. He ducked under another branch and caught the one beyond with his hand, gave it a flick, and let it swing back as he passed.

“Dammit, Dean!” Sam shouted and spit leaves out of his mouth. “Would you knock it the hell off already?”

Dean rolled his eyes, relieved that he’d finally gotten a rise out of him and put a grin in place when he turned. “What’s the matter, Sammy? I thought sasquatches liked the wilderness.”

“God! You are…” Sam ducked and grabbed a handful of leaves and mud, throwing them at Dean’s face as he stood. “…a gigantic pain in the ass!”

“And your aim sucks.” Dean laughed as he dodged most of the pile. Sam had spent the last few days slipping into himself in depression. Dean was all too familiar with what that loss looked like after their father’s descent into depression and he’d made a promise to himself not to let Sam go the same way. When kindness and coddling hadn’t gotten Sam to snap out of it, Dean had found this hunt in the middle of nowhere and decided to use frustration instead to break through that wall his brother was building up around himself. That had almost always worked for him in the past when Dean had used the tactic rather frequently to bringtheir dad back when he’d slip into his funks, cuddling whiskey bottles and not speaking for days. Dean had purposefully courted a few bruises as a kid to help his dad take care of them. He didn’t mind at all now if a bruise or two would help snap Sam out of his funk because Jess’ loss was still too fresh, only weeks behind them, and finding out a few days ago that their dad was alive and, for whatever reason, avoiding them hadn’t helped. Dean silently cursed his dad again.

“Stop trying to piss me off!” Sam shouted and stormed past his brother.

“Oh, quit bein’ such a princess.” Dean grabbed another branch and flung it at Sam’s back, nodding happily when Sam growled under his breath with his rising frustration. Wouldn’t be long now, Dean thought to himself.

Sam kicked a dead limb out of his path and slapped a bushy branch out of his way as he walked. Dean had spent the better part of three days giving him his space and quiet, and Sam wanted to knock him out right then just to get it back. “Can we please do this damn job and get out of these woods without you being a giant five-year-old?”

Dean chuckled and ducked around a large tree to walk alongside his brother. “Probably not. Come on, you know you wanna bag another chupacabra.”

“They’re a dime a dozen around here and stupid, and you know it,” Sam said angrily and rolled his eyes. “I thought you said they were barely worth ganking.”

“They are.” Dean shrugged, smiled and managed to ‘accidentally’ kick a good-sized clod of mud into Sam’s path, splattering up his jeans. “Oops. Sorry about that.” He grinned when Sam flipped him off. “Just ‘cause they’re stupid doesn’t mean I think we should let ‘em keep killin’ Farmer Bob’s sheep.”

“Billy. His name is Billy.”

Dean snorted. “That is so not better. Farmer Billy Bob.” Sam gave an inarticulate growl and lengthened his stride to get some space between them. “Better,” Dean muttered with a smirk and jogged to catch up with him. He reached in front of Sam and slapped the barrel of the rifle his brother had left droop. “That works better when you don’t drag it in the dirt.”

“Shuddup,” Sam grumbled, but he did lift the muzzle of the rifle up.

“Chupacabra takes a bite outta your ass ‘cause you ain’t payin’ attention, I’m gonna laugh.” Dean laughed and shrugged. “Fair warning.”

“You’re such a dick,” Sam said under his breath and took a few deep breaths to try and rein his temper in.

Dean chuckled and nodded in silent agreement. He spotted bushes he recognized off to his left and grinned. “Dude. Check it out.” He bent and wrapped a hand around one branch, stripping the dark berries as he walked and held up his prize to his brother. “Fox grapes.” He popped one in his mouth and smiled with the little burst of over-tart sweetness on his tongue. “There was this chick in…huh…one of the ‘C’ states…anyway, man, she could bend…”

“Dean.”

Dean snorted, stopped by Sam’s disgusted use of his name. “Nature chick. Spent a weekend in the woods…practicing yoga positions…” he said with his tongue in his cheek and ate another berry. “…and learning some of the crap you can actually eat in the woods. Here.” He held his hand out and Sam knocked it away.

“No thanks,” Sam grumbled and rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know for sure if those are alright.”

“Do too. They’re Fox Grapes, dude. Perfectly safe.” Dean demonstrated by putting the whole handful in his mouth with a grin. He chewed and bent, stripping another handful from a bush as they passed. “My little brother. Chicken.” He sighed when Sam continued to ignore him and put his berry filled hand up in his brother’s face. “They taste like grapes! Come on! Live a little, Sammy!”

“It’s Sam! Fine!” Sam took the berries from his brother and shoved them in his mouth. “Happy?”

Dean chuckled, nodded and flicked a last berry at his brother’s nose. “Got a little something on your face, dude.”

Sam swallowed the almost too-tart berries and glared at him. “Will you PLEASE leave me the hell alone? What…” He spun, bringing his rifle up with the sound of something crashing through the underbrush behind them.

“Think the stupid son of a bitch finally decided to come out and play,” Dean grinned and stepped past his brother. “You take left.” He strode into the underbrush and started whistling like he was calling a dog. “Come’re boy! Come on, you stupid, hairless, ugly little bastard. Got some nice hot lead for ya’.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that split his face with his brother’s words -- the familiar, ballsy taunting that Dean fell into because he just plain enjoyed the job sometimes. He watched the trees around them, and then he frowned as it all came clear and Sam realized how stupid he was. Irritation warred with affection as it dawned on him that Dean driving him to shouting today was just his big brother trying to snap him out of his depression…again. “God, I’m an idiot,” Sam said softly.

“If the idiot could keep his mind on the job, that’d be nice!” Dean yelled with a grin and then took aim as the chupacabra made its first appearance, skittering from a cluster of bushes and then back into another with a hiss. “Damn thing’s fast!”

Sam let off a shot in the creature’s direction and heard an angry hiss. “Caught a piece of him.”

“Stay there!” Dean swung wide around the clump of trees and bushes where the creature had vanished and circled. “Come on, you little bastard.” He scuffed his boots through the leaves, keeping the muzzle of the rifle on the dense thicket and fired the moment two, beady red eyes emerged in a rush as the chupacabra lunged out at him. The sound of the shot faded away as the creature landed dead with a little thump into the leaves, and Dean grinned. “Gotcha! Hey, bring the lighter fluid over here, dude, and let’s burn this thing. Bet we can still make that little diner an hour back in time for pie!”

Dean shouldered his rifle and then frowned. “Sammy?” He started back around the trees and heard a new sound, like a wheezing cough. “Sam. What’s goin’ on?” Dean rounded the trees and found his little brother on his knees. “Sam!” He was at his side in an instant and took Sam’s shoulders, trying to get a look at him. “What’s wrong? Talk to me!”

Sam felt his throat closing, making it harder to breathe and couldn’t find the air to explain to Dean that his stomach was cramping, his head spinning, and his chest felt as though it were trying to squeeze the life out of him. Not to mention the fact that it felt like his throat was swelling shut more with each passing second. “Dean,” was all he managed and Sam could barely hear his own voice, but that single, forced word seemed to have no trouble communicating his distress. Dean glanced futilely around the clearing looking for any signs of a struggle or anything else that could have hurt Sam. Seeing nothing, he did a quick frantic inventory of his brother, looking for any signs of injury, swearing silently to himself when he found nothing to give him any clue as to what was wrong.

“Alright, take it easy. Hey. I’m right here.” Dean wrapped an arm over his brother’s shoulders and took Sam’s rifle, adding it to his own. “Come on. I don’t know what the hell happened, but we’re gonna head back, get you some help alright? Whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it. You just gotta keep breathin’ for me. Come on. Here we go.”

Sam let his brother pull him to his feet and tried to contain the panic quickly working its way through him as he struggled just to pull in enough air to remain conscious. “Dea…”

“I know. Stop talkin’.” The chupacabra forgotten, Dean pulled his little brother in as fast a walk as he could manage through the dense forest. The heavy foliage had been fun before, giving him plenty of opportunities to irritate Sam, but now it was just in his way and making him curse with every minute it added on to the return trip. Over it all was the increasingly labored wheezing of his little brother’s breaths in his ear. “Hang on, Sam. Just…don’t you quit on me.” He had no idea what could have happened. Sam had only been out of his sight for a minute. He was pretty certain the chupacabra had not gotten anywhere near him, and much as he wanted to press him for answers, getting him safe and breathing was more important. It was obvious that Sam wouldn’t be able to answer anyway, so it would have to wait. Yet, Sam was becoming more and more heavy as they walked, driving Dean’s fear ever higher.

“Sammy?” Dean stopped and took hold of Sam’s face, turning it up so he could see him.

“C…c…can’t….sor…sorry.” Sam wanted to say more, but there just wasn’t enough air left anymore as his eyes closed, and he felt Dean’s arms wrap around him as darkness swam in across his vision.

“No, no, no. Sammy?” Dean held him up with a groan of effort. “Ok. Little further, buddy.” He bent at the knees and pulled Sam’s arm until he had his very not-little brother over his shoulders and started walking again. “No more…working out…for you.” He kept Sam’s head as close to his ear as he could, listening to each labored breath and counting the seconds in between each like a talisman against them stopping altogether, because that was becoming the terrifying thought that loomed ever larger in Dean’s mind. Whatever this was, it was slowly killing Sam in front of him. “No.”

Sam woke several times through the hike, each time less incoherent than the last and doing nothing to calm Dean’s fears. He nearly sobbed in relief when the Impala’s gleaming black roof finally came into view. “There…there she is, Sammy. Gonna be... fine.” Dean pulled open the passenger door and lowered his ailing brother as gently as he could into the passenger seat. He closed the door on his unconscious, barely breathing little brother and ran around to the driver’s side.

The drive to the nearest hospital was twenty of the longest minutes of Dean’s life. Each time Sam’s eyes cracked open and searched for him, he suffered and had finally ended up driving with one hand on his brother’s neck to keep his face aimed at him, knowing that Sam needed to see him to not completely give in to the panic so clearly visible in face, and Dean spoke softly through the whole of the drive to try and ground him in a litany of nonsense meant to comfort.

Dean threw himself out of the Impala as he parked in front of the emergency room. He ran around the car and pulled his brother out, trying not to let his heart fall at the way Sam’s head lolled on his shoulders as he picked him up or the fact that his brother couldn’t groan and call him a jerk for carrying him like some wilting bride through the glass doors of the emergency room.

“Help! Somebody help me, please!” Dean shouted and went to his knees under Sam’s weight as the calm inside the room was broken with the sound of voices calling and men and women in scrubs converging on them. “He’s my brother,” Dean gasped as Sam was pulled from his arms and lifted up onto a gurney.

“Sir? Can you tell us what happened?” A woman knelt in front of him and tapped his cheek. “Sir, I’m Doctor Lemm. I need to know what happened.” She watched his glazed eyes meet hers and knew she was looking at the first stage of shock if she couldn’t head it off. “I need you to talk to me. What’s your name?”

“Sam. His name’s Sam.” Dean struggled back to his feet as Sam was wheeled away, not wanting to lose sight of him.

“Ok, that’s good. Now what’s yours?” Dr. Lemm steered Dean down the hall after his brother’s gurney and stopped him just inside the treatment room. “What happened?” She listened to the vitals being called out behind her and didn’t like them one bit.

“Dean. I’m…we were hiking and he just sort of…collapsed.” Dean watched the nurses swarm over his brother, cutting his shirts from him and couldn’t help but think that Sam was going to be pissed; he liked that tee-shirt. “I don’t…I don’t know. His breathing’s been getting worse, and he passed out and I couldn’t…”

“Ok. Alright. We’ve got him now. Stay right there.” Dr. Lemm went to her patient and nodded when her nurse held up an intubation tube. She took it and went to Sam’s head as she called out orders and tilted his chin. “Let’s get him breathing a little better.” She slid the tube into his mouth and scowled. “Dammit. I can’t… I can’t get in. Give me some more light here.”

Dean put a hand over his mouth, watching as they tried to force a tube down his little brother’s throat, and his fractured mind just couldn’t understand where everything had gone so wrong. He backed up into the wall as they worked and the indecipherable medical jargon flowed around him.

“Damn! This looks like an extreme allergic reaction.” Dr. Lemm set the tube aside and leaned down when she saw Sam’s eyes flutter. “Sam? Sam, I’m Dr. Lemm, can you hear me?” She looked over at the brother. “Dean, has your brother ever had a reaction like this before?”

Dean shook his head. “No. No, he’s not allergic to any…”

“Yes.” Sam’s voice was a bare, choked whisper.

“Sammy!” Dean rushed to the table and pushed a nurse aside so he could see him. “Sammy?”

Sam met his brother’s panicked eyes and tried, even as blackness started to roll back in on him. “J…Jess…sun…sun…”

“Sun-what?” Dean frowned in confusion and palmed the side of his brother’s face. “Sammy? Come on.” He carded his fingers back through Sam’s sweaty hair and silently begged him to stay.

Dr. Lemm leaned over and gently turned Sam’s head until she caught his eyes. “Sam. Sunflower?” she asked and he gave her a weak nod before his eyes rolled back in his head. “Well, damn. Ok, Dean, I need you to move back now.”

“What the hell do sunflowers have to do with anything? Hey!” Dean argued at being pushed away from the gurney and toward the hall. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s an allergic reaction to sunflower seeds. Patty, get me the antihistamine, Dave…” she rattled off instructions, feeling more confident now that she knew what was happening.

“He hasn’t eaten sunflower seeds, dammit!” Dean all but yelled and dragged his hands through his hair. “We just…we ate some grapes.”

“Grapes?” Dr. Lemm’s head jerked up and she looked at him. “What kind of grapes?”

“Fox grapes.” Dean shrugged. “Found them in the forest while we were walkin’ and ate a couple handfuls. They tasted fine.”

Dr. Lemm’s mouth fell open and then she shook her head, taking a syringe handed to her and injected it quickly into her patient’s arm. “Fox grapes and sunflowers are in the same family. There are a few documented cases of the allergy being triggered by the grapes.” She slipped an oxygen mask over Sam’s face and watched the monitors for any sign the drug was working. “Now there’s one more. Has he eaten anything else today?”

“Uh, no. Not really.” Dean looked miserably at his brother, remembering how Sam had pushed food away the same way he had been for days. “He’s…it’s been a bad year. He wasn’t hungry.”

“On an empty stomach, that would exacerbate the symptoms. Odds are, his allergy to sunflower seeds doesn’t normally do more than upset his stomach.” She sighed and rested a hand on the boy’s forehead as she looked down at him. “This was just bad luck all around.” Dr. Lemm glanced up at the monitors and back down at Sam and smiled. “I think he’s going to be alright now.”

The press of bodies around his brother’s bed slowly dwindled until finally it was just Dean, his brother, and Dr. Lemm. “You sure? He’s…he’s alright?” Dean took a step forward and was at his brother’s side, sliding Sam’s hand into his own as he looked down at the deeply shadowed eyes.

“The drugs we’ve given will counter the effects. He’s going to be weak and sore for a few days.” Dr. Lemm smiled up at Dean. “He’ll have to take it easy, and you need to get him to eat more regularly. Also, no more nibbling berries in the woods.”

Dean gave a wavering smile and nodded. “Yeah. Not doin’ that again.”

“I’ll leave you with him. He should wake up soon.” Dr. Lemm patted his shoulder. “He’s going to be fine, Dean.”

Dean nodded again as she left and put his other hand on his brother’s head. “I’m sorry, Sammy. Holy…holy crap.” Dean groaned and bent until his head rested lightly on Sam’s chest over his heart and let the guilt burn through him sickly. “This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I was just…” Dean sighed and shook his head against his brother. “…just tryin’ to snap you out of your funk, dude. You know? I was tryin’ to help. I’m an idiot. I’m just a… Sammy, I’m sorry. Please wake up and tell me you’re ok.” He startled when a hand landed in his hair and lifted his head. “Sammy?”

Sam blinked and rolled his head a little so he could see his brother. He was a little fuzzy on what had happened, but he’d clearly heard his big brother apologizing for something and putting himself down, something that never failed to make Sam want to slap him. “M’al…alright.” He frowned and pulled his hand from Dean’s head, trying to shove the oxygen mask off his face, scowling when Dean grabbed his free hand.

“Nope. Leave it, dude.” Dean took hold of his brother’s hand and pulled it down. “You, uh…you had an allergic reaction, remember?” Sam gave him a slow nod and Dean smiled sadly. “It was the damn fox grapes. God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”

“Not your fault,” Sam said softly and coughed, trying to clear his still tight throat. He ignored the ache in his chest that he hadn’t felt in over two years and rolled onto his side, into his brother, uncaring for the moment if Dean decided to tease him about being a giant girl…he needed the comfort, and he smiled when his brother’s hand slid into its customary position on the back of his neck without a word.

“So, you’re allergic to sunflower seeds?” Dean asked and quirked a brow at his brother, leaning down so Sam could see him and trying hard not to smile because his little brother had curled into him for comfort like he used to as a child. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“Jess… her mom.” Sam coughed and really wanted the mask off his face but knew Dean wasn’t going to let him just yet. “Her mom made her this pie…thing. Sunflower seeds, sunflower oil…some other stuff.” He shook his head a little and closed his eyes. “Ended up in the E.R. then too.” He didn’t see the dark look on his brother’s face as he continued. “Doctors said it was too much…kicked me over into, uh…anaphylactic shock.”

“Jesus.” Dean tightened his hand on Sam’s neck and hated himself a little for missing what had to have been a terrifying moment for him.

“Wanted you,” Sam said softly as sleep stole over him. “Jess tried to…kept askin’ for you.” He squeezed the hand Dean was still holding and smiled. “Jerk.”

Dean sniffed, grateful his little brother didn’t choose that moment to look up and see the tears in his eyes. “Bitch,” he said softly. Dean hitched a hip up onto the side of the bed, snorting a quiet laugh when Sam curled further around him in his sleep and settled in to wait. He carded his fingers through Sam’s hair and sighed. “I gotcha, little brother.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	7. For Kelisem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Kelisem - since it has been far too long since we've seen it in the show (and I bet we won't be getting it soon....) How about a prank war :-)
> 
> A/N: You know, it’s the kind of thing you’d think would be easy but sit down and try to think up Winchester worthy pranks on the spot. ROFL Thank goodness for JaniceC678 and the internet. HA! Also…finished another book. Keep your eyes out in the next month or so. :D  
> This one is set after 8x20 “Pac Man Fever” :D because it couldn’t be all Trials-angst all the time or the boys would have collapsed under the pressure. Sam. Dean. Blowing off a little steam Winchester style. Hope you like it!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean walked along the hall of the bunker, whistling ‘Back in Black’ softly as he neared the library and then rolled his eyes when he reached it. Sam was exactly where he’d left him six hours before on his way to bed, bent over the long table with a dusty book under his nose and hair that looked like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket.

“Dude, I told you to get some sleep.” Dean stomped into the library and up the few steps to his brother and then stopped with a small chuckle. “Guess you did. Dumbass.” Sam was out cold with his face pressed into the book. He reached out a hand to wake him up and then pulled back. “You’re just gonna argue with me,” Dean said softly. He ran a hand through his hair and then smirked. He pulled the belt of his borrowed robe tighter and left quietly, heading for the kitchen. It had only been days since Charlie had left and his trip through her subconscious thanks to the Djinn still weighed on him. Most of the time, he felt like he was drowning under the weight of what was happening to his brother, and there was a voice in the back of his mind that, no matter how ruthlessly he squashed it down, was convinced he’d be losing his little brother at the end of these trials.

Dean pushed that thought away and turned into the kitchen. It was time they took a day and lightened up a little, especially as they were off the job for the next few days while they healed. He put a hand up to the back of his head and ran his fingers over the neat row of eleven stitches under his hair. It had been a hell of a crack he’d taken when the ghoul had thrown him backwards into the wall. He wished he could remember the rest of that job. All he knew was he’d woken up with a merrily burning, headless ghoul in front of him and a worried-to-death little brother leaning over him. Sam hadn’t come out of it unscathed either. The ghoul had damn near torn his left shoulder out of its socket before Sam had managed to get hold of Dean’s shotgun and blow its head off.

“And that’s another thing I’m gonna kick his ass for,” Dean grumbled and bent to open the cupboards under the sink. The sling Sam wasn’t supposed to remove for a week had been nowhere in sight. Clearly, his little brother’s stubborn streak had made a reappearance. “Whoa.” Dean swayed on his knees and slapped a hand out to the counter to stay upright while his head swam. That happened to him a lot in the two days since the ghoul, and he dearly wished it’d go the hell away. He held his head until his vision cleared and reached under the sink, digging through the box there until he found what he wanted. Dean grinned. “Game on, Sammy.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke slowly, feeling groggy as he usually did lately when he was lucky enough to fall asleep and stay that way for more than an hour. He cleared his throat and blinked gritty eyes open. He realized he’d fallen asleep at the table with his face in his book and sighed, knowing Dean would never let him hear the end of it if he found him there. “Crap,” Sam groaned softly and pulled an arm up to brace himself with… or tried to. He frowned when his arm didn’t move. “The hell…” He lifted his head and looked down and realized he couldn’t move either arm and had, at some point while he slept, been duct-taped into his chair.

“DEAN!” Sam bellowed and jerked up, trying to dislodge the tape. “Dean, dammit! Not funny!”

Dean’s laughter preceded him around the corner, and he had to wipe tears from his eyes with the sight of his brother bouncing and twisting in the chair as he struggled to work the tape loose. “Mornin’, Sammy!”

“You jerk!” Sam twisted back and forth and finally managed to get one arm free of the loops of tape wrapped from his shoulders down to his hips, albeit not as tightly as they could have been if Dean had really been really serious about restraining him; even wrapping him in tape, Dean had taken care not to touch his injured shoulder. “When I get outta this…”

“You’re gonna put your ass in bed where it belonged in the first place,” Dean finished with a grin. He wisely backed up a few steps as Sam started tearing the duct tape away from his shirts and turned a glare at him.

“You keep snickering like that and I’m gonna kick your ass,” Sam promised darkly as he finally managed to free himself from the chair. He balled up the torn and tangled duct tape and threw it at his still laughing brother as he stood and then had to stop and clasp a hand around his aching left shoulder.

“Bet that’d feel better if you had it in the damn sling like you’re supposed to.” Dean raised his hands and kept his distance as Sam came down the stairs and turned into the hall. “Just takin’ care of my pain-in-the-ass little brother.” He grinned at Sam’s angry scowl. Dean knew that look on his brother’s face; it promised that Dean had started a war, and he decided right then to hide all the duct tape in the bunker before Sam could wrap him into his bed with it.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam adjusted the sling around his left arm and rolled his head on his shoulders as he walked into the library. He’d actually broken down and taken the painkillers Dean kept leaving for him in a bid to back the burning ache off. He scowled when he heard the door to the bunker open and leaned on the map table as Dean appeared above him.

“Dean. What part of ‘no driving with a concussion’ doesn’t get through your cracked head?” Sam asked sweetly as his big brother came down the stairs.

Dean rolled his eyes when he reached the bottom and held up the grocery bags. “Kitchen doesn’t stock itself, dumbass.”

“Then next time, tell me and I’ll drive.” Sam took the bags from him and took a good look at Dean’s face. He was a little paler than he should be and sweating. “All those passing headlights set off another headache?”

“Dude,” Dean groaned, irritated at having been read so easily. His head was pounding, and the last few minutes to the bunker had been a fight to keep his eyes open and the Impala straight on the road. He’d spent ten minutes just sitting out in the car before coming in so Sam wouldn’t see what a dumbass he’d been… obviously, that had been pointless. “I’m good.”

“You could have wrecked the car and killed yourself,” Sam said seriously and started down the hall toward the kitchen. “Next time, you ask me. I mean it, Dean.”

“Yes, mom.” Dean snorted and then wrapped a hand over his eyes once Sam was out of sight. “Crap, that hurts.”

“Go shower!” Sam called from the hall and headed for the kitchen.

Dean sighed and nodded. Hot water had proven to be a good way to alleviate the pain from the concussion, so long as he was careful to brace himself on a wall and not get dizzy and land on his ass. “Friggin mother hen,” he grumbled. He passed the kitchen, looking in and saw his brother emptying the grocery bags onto the counter. “Jolly Ranchers are mine, bitch!”

Sam chuckled and picked up the bag. “Hate these things.”

Dean caught the bag when Sam tossed it to him and grinned. “Why you think I buy ‘em?” He waved the bag and carried on down the hall to his room. He stopped in long enough to grab some clothes and a towel and then headed for the showers while his head pounded. He wished they had their own showers, but there was something to be said for the bunker’s showers. The Men of Letters had been into creature comforts, and each of the four shower cubicles boasted two shower heads and jets down the walls along with a supply of hot water that never seemed to run out no matter how long Sam stood under them.

Dean stripped off his clothes and stepped into one of the cubicles, pulling the sliding door closed. He turned on the water, letting it run nice and hot before he flicked the lever for the shower heads and groaned in bliss as it began to beat on his sore body. He angled his head under one of the streams and let it run over him, soothing the headache that had been pounding there for three days straight. He tipped his face up into the spray and frowned. The water felt wrong, and it smelled like…

“What the fuck?” Dean yelled and pulled his head out from under the spray. He blinked his eyes open and stared in shock as brown water frothed out of the shower heads down onto him with the strong smell of beef soup. “Sammy, you son of a bitch!”

Sam chuckled in the kitchen when he heard Dean’s muffled bellow and finished putting away the groceries. He wasn’t surprised when, a minute later, Dean stomped into the kitchen. He was wet, dripping from the shower and the towel hitched around his hips was stained brown. “Beef bouillon cubes in the shower heads? Really, Sam?” Sam grinned and ducked away when Dean flung an arm out to try and spray him with beef-flavored water. “I owed you, man.”

“Oh, it’s on, Sammy,” Dean promised darkly and stalked back out of the kitchen with a snarl.

Sam bent over the counter, laughing so hard he was making his own shoulder ache. “Ow, ow, ow…holy crap. Worth it.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean set a tray on the table in the library with a sandwich and bowl of soup for his brother and then looked up in surprise when there was a loud knock from the door into the bunker. “Huh.” He turned and grabbed his gun from the table and swayed when the room spun dizzily around him for a moment. “Sh…shit.” He waited for his head to settle and climbed the metal stairs up to the entrance. “Who is it?” Dean shouted and then groaned, putting a hand to his head as fresh pain sprang into life, thinking absently that they should probably put in a security camera to screen visitors, since almost no one knew where they were. He listened for an answer and a smile spread over his face when he recognized the very muffled voice. Dean pulled the door open and grinned. “Charlie! What’re you doin’ back here?”

“Hey, beefcake!” Charlie jumped up and threw her arms around his neck, delivering a solid hug and was surprised when he groaned and staggered back. “Dude! What gives?”

“Concussion.” Dean said ruefully and let her feet back down to the floor. “I’m fine. Sam damn near got his shoulder yanked outta the socket. So, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Awe, nothin’ much. I was in the neigh…” Charlie stopped and leaned into him, sniffing.

“What?” Dean frowned in confusion as she went up on tip-toe and sniffed along his jaw. “Ok, tell me you’re not here ‘cause you’re turnin’ into a dog or something.”

“Why do you smell like…my Aunt Mary’s beef stew?” Charlie looked up at him with raised brows.

Dean snarled and shoved the bunker door closed. “Because my little brother’s a dick and doesn’t know when to quit while he’s ahead.”

“Oookay. Doesn’t really answer my question, but I’m sensing some fraternal mayhem here.” Charlie chuckled and followed him down the stairs. She slapped her hands out to his shoulders and steadied him when he swayed again. “Ok, man. Maybe you should be, like…horizontal or something. You know, bed? Like normal humans who’ve had their heads bashed in. I’m just sayin’.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Dean reached the bottom and let Charlie go ahead of him. He flicked a lock of her red hair into her face and smiled. “So, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how my two favorite bros are doing.” Charlie smiled and walked up into the library. “Oh, dude! You made soup? I want!”

Dean snorted a laugh and grabbed her arm. “Ok, come on. Kitchen. Sam’s in the shower.” He glanced down the hall as they walked and smiled. “Should be out anytime now.”

“So, is his shoulder really that bad?” Charlie asked, concerned because Sam hadn’t looked too hot the last time she saw him and she didn’t think the poor guy could take much more.

Dean shrugged and went into the kitchen. “It ain’t great. Gotta take him back to the clinic day after tomorrow for a new set of x-rays to make sure he’s in one piece.” He smiled. “He’s whining about it.”

“Uh huh.” Charlie smirked, sure that Sam was doing anything but whining. The man was a little too good at hiding his pain, she thought, but didn’t make the observation aloud. “So. Soup. Make a big…”

“Dean, you DICK!”

Charlie’s eyes went wide when Sam’s voice echoed through the building and she looked at the other brother. “What did you do?”

Dean just grinned and shook his head, trying very hard not to laugh, but he gave up when his brother came through the kitchen door. “Oh, holy crap. Hey…hey, Sammy.”

“Why am I sticky? What the hell’d you do?” Sam demanded angrily and put a hand to his stomach, pulling it away with a faint sucking sound.

“Turn…” Dean had to stop and try to catch his breath from the laughter, but it was hard. “Turn about is fair play, Sammy!” He bent over the counter laughing and shook his head. “Jolly Ranchers…in the shower head. Holy shit, that’s awesome. I didn’t think that was gonna work!”

Charlie was a bit lost for words for a moment as Sam stood there in the door, all six-feet-four inches of him naked but for a towel tugged haphazardly around his hips. His hair was dripping water but it was stuck to his head and face at odd angles, and even the towel seemed to cling to his skin, outlining his thighs and…other things that Charlie was finally forced to look up and ignore the blush spreading over her face.

“Dude,” Charlie started and felt tears gathering in her eyes with the need to laugh. “If I was straight, pretty sure this is where I’d lick you like a lollipop.”

Dean lost his attempt at composure with Charlie’s words and bent double over the counter, resting his head on his arm as he howled with laughter. It wasn’t doing his head any favors as new pain crashed around his skull, but it was just too damn funny.

“Idiot!” Sam flushed from his head down to his toes as he realized he was standing virtually naked in front of Charlie, but then he saw Dean’s legs start to wobble and he blew out a breath. “Charlie grab a chair.”

“Huh? Why?”

“’Cause my idiot brother’s about to laugh himself into unconsciousness. Woop…there…crap.” Sam leaped across the kitchen and caught Dean before he could slide off the counter. “There he goes. Chair?”

“Oh, man.” Charlie pulled the chair over and held it still so Sam could lower Dean down into it. “He said he was fine!”

Sam smiled at her fondly. “He is. When you get your head knocked around this bad, sometimes it doesn’t take much to put you out.” He held Dean up and tipped his brother’s head back. “It mostly sucks, but it’s not dangerous or anything really, long as he doesn’t hit the floor and hit his head again. Hey! Dumbass!” Sam tapped his brother’s cheek and smiled when Dean’s eyes fluttered open. “If you’re done playing Sleeping Beauty, think you can amuse Charlie for five minutes while I go fix this and get dressed?”

“Bite me, Sammy,” Dean growled and pushed himself up so he was sitting straighter. He was a little humiliated that that had happened again. That made four times now since the initial injury that he’d ended up out cold for one dumb thing or another and it was getting old.

“Just keep an eye on him. Don’t let him run with scissors or something.” Sam grinned and ducked the rather pathetic punch Dean aimed at him. “I’ll be back.”

“Hey, Sam, not that I’m not enjoying the…you know…I mean, dude, could that towel BE any smaller?” Charlie waved a hand in the vicinity of his hips and looked studiously up at the ceiling. “But, um…should your shoulder actually look all puffed up and shit like that? Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Huh?” Sam looked over and down at his left shoulder and grimaced for the clearly swollen joint. It did hurt, but he hadn’t really registered it until just then, now that the adrenaline of being pissed at his brother was wearing off. “It’s fine. Back in a few.”

“Put the damn sling on!” Dean shouted and then groaned, hunching over his head in the chair.

Charlie put a hand to his shoulder with a smile and shook her head. “Let me guess; you’re just fine too?”

“Yep. Peachy. Fine. We’re fine all around.” Dean gave a soft laugh and pushed up under Charlie’s watchful eye. “Was totally worth it. You see the look on his face?”

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him grab a bowl and start ladling out soup for her from a bit pot. “I dated this girl in…um…Arkansas?” She shook her head. “Alabama? Well, it started with an ‘A’. Anyway…”

Dean chuckled under his breath and turned back with the bowl, sliding it over the counter to her. “Here.”

“Bonus.” Charlie grinned and leaned over the bowl to sniff. “Anyway, this chick. She was like totally smokin’. I mean she made slave Leia look like the ugly step-sister, you know what I mean?” She smiled when Dean just grinned and nodded. “Also…yoga instructor. Dude. Date yoga chicks. Seriously.”

“Done that.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his knuckles on his shirt.

“Right?” Charlie held up a hand and laughed when Dean gave her a firm high-five. “So anyway, gorgeous and bendy, but holy CRAP she drove me nuts always leavin’ her Pokemon crap around my apartment. I mean, Pok-e-suck. Lame.” She leaned back and waggled her brows. “So I used to get her back. I crushed up white antacids and put them in her sugar bowl. Dude, it’s like mount Vesuvius when that stuff hits hot coffee.” She frowned and looked up at him. “It’s just possible I’m the reason that relationship didn’t last.”

Dean laughed and nodded. “You think? Eat already.”

Charlie ate some of the soup, making appreciative noises and then raised a brow as she looked at Dean. “So, what exactly started the Winchester war here?”

“I fired the first volley,” Dean admitted easily and snorted a laugh. “Duct taped him to his chair while he was sleeping, which I wouldn’t have done if the jackass had gone to bed in the first place like I told him, so really, it’s all Sam’s fault.”

Charlie laughed again and shook her head fondly. “Boys will be boys, I guess.” She finished her soup by the time Sam reappeared, this time fully clothed and looking less… sticky. “All good, big guy?”

Sam smiled and then turned the expected glare to his brother. “No damage done.” He tossed his sling at Dean’s face with his good arm. “You want me to wear it so bad, you get it on me.”

Dean chuckled and came around the island, watching his brother warily for signs he was going to get punched. When he was sure Sam wasn’t planning to murder him, he smiled and moved around him. “Hold still.”

Charlie sat back and watched with a small, affectionate smile as Dean gently maneuvered the sling around Sam’s shoulder and chest and then eased his brother’s arm into it, talking softly to soothe him when Sam hissed with discomfort and dropping a caring hand to the back of his neck for a moment when he was done before moving away again. “You guys are gonna kill me,” Charlie said softly and waved a hand at their confused faces when she stood. “Nothing. I gotta jet. I just wanted to check in. I’ll come back day after tomorrow.” She grabbed Dean in a hug and then turned, being more careful of Sam as she leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Make sure you’re still in one piece when I come back, big guy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam laughed.

Dean let Sam lead Charlie out, listening to their voices and Charlie’s light laugh before the clang of the bunker’s door sounded. He left the kitchen and grabbed Sam’s arm when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “You. Food. Now.”

Sam let his big brother shove him up the library steps and dropped into a chair at the table with a tray of food in front of it. “Are you ever gonna stop mother-henning me?”

“Nope. Deal.” Dean sat in the chair across from him and kicked his feet up on the table. “So, we even on this prank war yet?”

“Sure,” Sam said with a smile.

Dean’s brows rose because that had been way too easy. “Right. Even. War over.”

“Yep.” Sam gave him another smile and started in on his soup.

Dean groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Oh, I’m gonna regret startin’ this shit, aren’t I?”

“Yep.”

“Son of a bitch.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean emptied his clip into the target and set his gun down. He pulled the protectors off his ears and rubbed at his forehead. The concussion was better, but the sound of his own gun, even through the protectors was enough to set his head pounding again. “Damn.” He quickly put his gun up and looked up the stairs leading out of the gun range. It’d been a whole day with no reprisals from his brother for the Jolly Rancher shower and Dean was beginning to twitch. He smirked and started up the stairs because that was likely exactly what his little brother was going for. “Pain in my ass,” Dean grumbled as he reached the top of the stairs and headed for the library.

Sam was, as usual, at one of the tables and face-first in yet another heavy book. He glanced up when Dean appeared and raised a brow. “How’s your head this time?”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “Getting better. How’s your shoulder, gimp?”

“Better.” Sam refused to rise to the bait and leaned back in his chair, careful of his shoulder in the sling that Dean wouldn’t let him out of his room without. “This’ll come off tomorrow. You watch.”

Dean nodded because as fun as it was teasing his brother, he did want him to be fighting fit again… or as close to that as Sam was able to get these days. He took a closer look at his brother and noted that while he was pale, his face was flushed, he was sweating and trying very hard to not look as miserable as he clearly felt. He rolled his eyes and smiled. “I’m gonna make some chili.”

“Dean.”

“And you’re gonna eat it.” Dean finished for him and stood. “No arguments. Then you’re gonna go lay the hell down because you look like you’re about to fall over and I ain’t carryin’ your gigantor ass.”

Sam shook his head and went back to his book. “Whatever.”

“Damn right, whatever,” Dean shot back and rolled his eyes when Sam smirked at him. “Shuddup, bitch.” He left his brother there and headed for the kitchen, detouring for the bathroom. “Stubborn, grumpy, pain in my ass,” he grumbled as he shut the door behind him and quickly relieved himself. Dean reached down and flushed the toilet, straightened to zip up his jeans and then staggered back a step as water rushed into the bowl and a flood of soapy suds erupted up out of it to overflow onto the floor and over his feet.

“SAM!” Dean bellowed and spun to open the door. His boots slipped on the soapy linoleum and he went down on his ass in the sudsy tide with a roar of frustration. “Son of a bitch!”

Sam pushed open the bathroom door and the grin he’d worn down the hall listening to his brother turned into howls of laughter. He danced out of the way as the soapy apocalypse started to foam out into the hall and braced his good arm on the wall while he laughed. “Holy…holy crap, Dean!”

“Gonna kill you!” Dean used the door to pull himself back to his feet and stalked out with his boots squeaking at every step. Each little squeak only served to make his brother laugh harder and Dean’s glare deepen. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

“Dude, that’s…that’s…” Sam couldn’t speak and had to stop, leaning back to wipe his eyes. “Wow.”

Dean squelched off down the hallway to the showers and barely resisted the urge to punch Sam. Only the fact that his little brother was still walking wounded stopping him. “Paybacks are a bitch, little brother,” he growled softly.

The next morning, Dean lay in his bed and listened to his brother in the showers. He grinned as he heard each shower turn on in turn, Sam no doubt checking to make sure there weren’t any surprises waiting for him, but Dean was far too crafty to use the same gag twice and Sam should know better. He got up and pulled on his sweats and a shirt and headed for the kitchen to make coffee with a cheerful whistle. He was watching the coffee drip slowly into the pot by the time the first shout sounded and pouring his first cup by the time his, once again towel-covered and dripping brother stalked into the kitchen.

“Mornin’, Sammy.” Dean said and turned with a smile. He snorted into his coffee cup and burst out laughing. Sam’s hair was half-covered in shampoo suds and standing out in ridiculous spikes from his head while his brother glared death at him.

“If my hair falls out again…” Sam threatened in a low voice. “What did you put in the shampoo?”

Dean started laughing and set his coffee down before he spilled it. “Icy hot. Bet that’s a nice warm feelin’ you got goin’ there.”

“You ass!” Sam ducked around him to the sink and turned the faucet on. He ducked his head under it and started scrubbing his hair furiously to get it out. He managed to get his uncooperative left arm up to help, grimacing against the burn. “You suck!”

Dean stifled his laughter and moved up next to his brother. “Ok. Ok. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, princess.”

Sam stomped on Dean’s foot next to his once and then resigned himself to letting Dean work the crap out of his hair. His left arm wasn’t doing him much good and he eased it back down and held it across his chest while Dean worked. “Shit burns, dude.”

Dean snorted and nodded. “Yep. I had to wash soapy toilet water off me, dude. There had to be payback. We done now?”

Sam glared at the bottom of the sink and slammed his eyes closed as the water threatened to run into his eyes, finally huffing out a disgusted breath. “Fine. Yeah. Truce.”

“Good.” Dean grinned and gave his brother’s head another rinse. “How’s it feel now?”

“Less burning.” Sam leaned up and snagged the dishtowel from the counter with his good arm to rub it over his head. He moved away toward the door and then grimaced. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean picked his coffee up again and looked over at his little brother, satisfied that he’d had the last word.

“Uh, I mean it. I’m done. Seriously.” Sam smiled and backed out the door. He hitched the towel on his hips higher and gave his brother a crooked smile. “But, uh…I didn’t know that before I… well, before you woke up this morning.”

Dean scowled and lowered his coffee. “Sammy, what’d you do?”

Sam couldn’t help the laugh and waved the dish towel at the cabinets. “Check the cupboards. Oh, crap.”

“You messed with my kitchen?” Dean asked in disbelief. He went to the cupboard Sam had pointed at and wrenched the doors open. He stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the rows of shiny silver cans… all with their labels torn off. “Are you kidding me?”

Sam burst into laughter and raised his hands in defeat. “I’m sorry. I can probably figure out what’s what again.”

“Sammy, you bitch! We’re gonna have mystery meals for a month because you had to River Tam this shit?”

Sam’s laughter stopped on a gasp and he stared at his big brother as a grin split his face. “You did watch it!”

“What?” Dean took out a few of the cans and thumped them angrily down on the counter.

“I KNEW you watched Firefly!” Sam crowed and laughed again. “Can’t deny it now!”

Dean stared and then rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help but start laughing as well and nodded. “Fine. Yes. I watched it, ok?” He pointed a finger at his brother. “I’m tellin’ you, dude. All those Fox execs? Demon possessed. Why the hell else would you kill that show after one season?” He grinned at his brother’s laughter and shrugged. “Mal’s bad ass, Sammy. Hell, yes, I watched it.” Dean cocked his head when he heard a muffled banging from the front of the bunker and grinned at Sam again. “That’s probably Charlie. Said she was comin’ back today. Go put some pants on before she has to look at your ass again.”

Sam laughed all the way back to his room and dressed as quickly as he was able with his shoulder. He picked up his sling and went back out to find Dean and Charlie both chuckling in the kitchen. “Hey, Charlie.”

“Big guy!” Charlie came over and slipped her arms around his waist for a hug. She grabbed the sling out of his hand when she pulled back and grinned up at him as she eased it up his bad arm for him. “Dean’s cracked, man. Zoe was so the better bad ass on Firefly.”

Sam chuckled and allowed Charlie to help him get his arm in the sling. “Think she’s right, Dean. Can’t see Mal pulling off all that ass-kicking in a corset.”

Dean rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Whatever, dude. Come on.” He looked at his watch and raised a brow at Sam. “We leave now, we can just make it in time.” He looked over at Charlie and patted a hand on her shoulder. “You stickin’ around?”

“Yeah. I wanted to check a couple things in the awesome library.” Charlie smiled and gave both men a push toward the door. “Also deplete your coffee supply a little.”

Sam chuckled and let them herd him toward the stairs. “You guys are ridiculous, you know that?”

Charlie saw them off, waving and closed the door behind them. She grinned and clapped her hands together. “Time to get busy.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean parked the Impala in front of the bunker and smirked over at his brother. “Dude, lighten up.”

“Nope,” Sam said grumpily and pushed his door open. The sling on his left arm had graduated to bandages wrapping it and strapping it across his chest. He’d irritated the joint over the last week and the doctor had not been happy with him. “This sucks.”

“I know.” Dean felt guilty as hell. He knew it was their prank war that had done the damage, and while Sam had gleefully participated, he’d started the whole thing. “Come on.” He came around the passenger side of the car and gave Sam a steadying hand as he stood up.

“Hey, guys!” Charlie came out of the bunker and jogged up to meet them. She frowned with concern when she saw Sam. “Uh, thought you were gonna lose the whole broken wing look today?”

“He overdid things a little this week,” Dean said and ran a hand through his hair ruefully. “Prank war might’ve had something to do with it.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, taking pity on his brother. “It’s fine. I should have been more careful.”

“You guys are like, way too jeopardy-friendly, you know that right?” Charlie smiled and gave Sam a careful hug before turning and giving Dean one hard enough to squeeze his ribs.

Dean returned it warmly and smiled. “You leavin’ already?”

“Yep. Got some gamin’ to do.” Charlie grinned. “There’s this little punk in Venezuela who thinks he can school me in Halo.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Dude’s gonna be cryin’ in his Red Bull by morning.”

“Give ‘em hell, Charlie.” Dean laughed and let her go.

“Peace out, bitches.” Charlie started up the road toward her car and turned back, red hair flying to grin at them. “Hey! You guys ever want lessons from the master, just let me know!”

“Huh.” Sam followed Dean toward the bunker and looked after Charlie curiously. “What’d that mean?”

“Who knows with her. She keeps life interesting.” Dean said fondly and unlocked the bunker door. “In you go, gimp.” He followed Sam down the stairs and bumped into his back at the bottom. “Dude! Move it!”

“Oh… my God.” Sam breathed and took a few hesitant steps forward as his eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. “Dean.”

“What? What’s…” Dean moved around Sam and gaped in open shock. “Holy crap!” The entire war room and, as Dean moved further in to peer around the corner, the library as well had been covered in aluminum foil. Every table, every chair, even the books and table lamps glittered in the overhead lights. In the two hours they’d been gone, Charlie had been busy. Dean started laughing and heard Sam joining in behind him. “Dude. We just got schooled.”

Sam laughed and walked up the stairs into the library. He bent over the nearest table and laughed even harder. “Dude! She… she even wrapped my pens!”

Dean walked over to the weapon display in the corner and had to wipe tears from his eyes. “She wrapped the friggin swords, dude!”

Sam dropped into a chair, giving another loud bark of laughter when the foil crinkled as he sat and shook his head. “Oh, man. This is…are we sure she’s not, like, a long lost Winchester cousin or something?”

Dean shook his head and pulled a foil wrapped book off the shelf. “She’s definitely one now, dude.” He couldn’t stop laughing when he saw even the legs of the tables and chairs had been wrapped.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is.” Sam leaned back and grinned around the shiny, silver room then looked over at his brother with a raised brow. “We’re gonna get her back, right?”

“Well, duh. Can’t let her get away with this!” Dean thumped a fist into the table, grinning as the foil tore. “She’s definitely a Winchester now.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	8. For Jaden Grace1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Jaden Grace1 - Uh, I would like something preseries, maybe Sam getting frustrated with John leading to John punishing Sam with an extra harsh punishment. Despite this, when the big bad comes along Sam sacrifices himself to save John and Dean. Enter angsty!hero!dean and angsty!guilty!john and of course plenty of hurt!sam (emotional, physical, the whole shebang)
> 
> A/N: Sam 13/Dean 17 some terrible teens for Sam I think. Hope you enjoy this! Lots of angst in this one. Lol

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

John Winchester slammed his empty coffee cup down on the counter and turned a glare on his youngest son. “Sam, it’s not happening and that’s final!”

“No, it’s not!” Sam yelled and threw off the hand Dean put on his arm. “I’m trying out for the team and you can’t stop me!”

“Sammy.” Dean tried to rein his little brother in, but he was in full-on, pissed-at-Dad mode and there was no stopping him, Dean knew.

“Soccer is not more important than your training, Sam!” John turned and stalked across the kitchen to tower over him.

“It’s normal, Dad! Kids do things like play soccer and I wanna be a normal kid, dammit!” Sam shouted up at him and wished for the hundredth time that he was taller.

“Don’t you cuss at me, Sammy!” John shouted back. “We save lives! We are not gonna stop until we find the thing that killed your mother and destroy it, and you wanna kick a damn ball around a field?”

“Dad!” Dean finally moved in front of Sam when his father reached out angrily for him. “It’s just soccer. It’s like, what, a couple times a week or something?” He smiled, trying to defuse the fight before it got any worse. “I can make sure he keeps up with his training and still has time to…”

“No, Dean!” John stalked a few steps away to restrain the urge he had to lash out. His anger was a touchy beast and was usually why he left his boys alone and drank elsewhere; he didn’t entirely trust himself some nights… or right at that moment, if he was perfectly honest with himself. Ever since Sam had hit puberty, his long-held tendency to argue and resist John’s directives had gotten ten times worse, and he had become more persistent and vocal about it. It was all John could do sometimes to keep from physically shaking him into submission and he could feel he was reaching his limit now. He turned back angrily and glared at both his sons. “I am not letting something as pointless as soccer distract either one of you and get you killed because you weren’t prepared! You understand me? Now we have a damn job to do! Sam, go change and get ready. Dean, go pick up that ammo I told you to get a half hour ago. Now, Dean!”

Dean wavered and then gave in to the look on his father’s face. He turned and took Sam’s shoulders, giving him a push out of the kitchen. “Go on, Sammy. Go change. I’ll be back soon.” He waited until Sam walked sullenly down the hall and fixed his dad with a stern look of his own before grabbing his jacket and leaving.

John tossed his coffee mug in the sink, not caring when the handle chipped off against the rusted metal. He scrubbed his hands over his face and growled when he heard a bad-tempered thump from the boys’ room. “That’s it, Sammy. I’ve had enough of this crap.”

Sam pulled his jeans up and kicked the leg of his bed, thumping it into the wall. “Dammit.” He pulled on his hoodie, a hand-me-down from Dean and spun when the door to his room burst open. “What, Dad? I’m getting dressed. I am dressed, ok?”

“You will watch your mouth with me, son,” John growled angrily.

“Whatev…hey!” Sam yelled when his father grabbed his arm. “Dad, lemme go! Stop!”

“Yellin’ at you obviously isn’t teaching you respect, Sam, so we’re gonna try something different.” John turned his youngest and bent him over the bed, holding him down with a hand on his back while Sam struggled. He used his other hand to slide his belt out of his pants, folded it in half and raised it up. “Stop fighting me!”

Sam yelped with the first strike of his dad’s belt on his backside. “Dad!”

John’s anger burned through him as he landed slap after loud slap on Sam’s backside with the belt. The crack of leather on denim filled the room along with the sound of Sam’s shocked voice in yips of pain. Finally, John stopped and stepped back, breathing heavily as the first, sick curl of guilt began to worm its way into his stomach. “Next time you wanna mouth off to me, Sammy, you think about this and then you don’t, you hear me?” His only reply was Sam’s tears muffled into the blanket on the bed. “Finish getting ready and get your ass out there. Dean’ll be back soon and we’re going.”

Sam waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he slowly slid off the bed onto his knees and winced. Tears coursed down his face and he hiccupped sobs into his own hands. He moved to stand and whimpered when the back of his jeans rubbed against the small of his back where some of his dad’s higher strikes had landed. Sam used shaking hands to tuck his tee shirt in and got to his feet. It was hardly the first time his dad had used physical punishment, but it was the first time he’d ever used his belt, and Sam… he felt like he was in shock. He pulled his jacket from the bed and dragged it on and then used the blanket to wipe his face. He couldn’t let Dean know. Sam didn’t even want to consider how bad the fight would be if his big brother found out what had just happened. There was really only one time Dean ever stood up in opposition to their father and that was for him.

“P-pull it together,” Sam whispered to himself and bent carefully to drag his backpack out from under the bed. He shouldered it just as he heard the front door bang open and took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. It hurt and he wanted to curl up and cry, but he had to protect Dean now. His big brother was there at the end of the hall when Sam opened the bedroom door and Sam dropped his eyes.

“Hey, squirt. You good?” Dean asked softly as Sam came down the hall. He narrowed his eyes, looking down at his little brother and stopped him in the door with a hand on his shoulder. “Sammy… you ok?”

Sam nodded and moved past him. “Yeah. I’m good. Let’s just do this, alright?”

Dean’s frown deepened. He knew that sound in Sam’s voice; it meant he’d been crying and hard. “Sammy?”

“Let’s go!” John called and came out of the kitchen. He eyed Sam, relieved to see that his youngest seemed to have calmed, and yet he swallowed hard when he realized Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes. He shook himself and picked up his bag, pushing it away for later. “Move it, boys.”

Dean watched his brother from the corner of his eye through the drive and every second that went by, he knew more and more in his gut that something had happened while he was gone. “Sam, talk to me.”

“About what?” Sam asked softly and had to fight the urge to change position and get his aching backside off the seat. Every bump was like an insult to the already inflamed flesh, and each time Dean looked at him, tears threatened to fall. “Nothin’ to talk about, Dean.”

Dean scowled and followed their dad’s truck, turning when he did. He glanced over at Sam again and could see it in every hunched line of his brother’s body, the need Sam had to curl into him for comfort and that he was fighting it for whatever damn reason. “Just… you know you can tell me anything, right? I mean anything, dude.”

Sam nodded and kept his mouth closed. He didn’t trust himself to speak. They pulled up in front of the apartment building and parked and he waited for Dean to get out and vanish behind the truck before pulling himself out of the car. He was stiff and worked to move more naturally, lest Dean figure out he was hurting. Sam didn’t look up when his father strode up next to him.

“Now you remember the plan.” John looked down at Sam and hastily away, meeting Dean’s green eyes in the lamplight. “We go floor by floor. The bones are in there somewhere. Find them. Salt and burn them. You boys go up and start at the top. Sam, watch your brother’s back.”

Dean stared between his brother and his father at Sam’s muffled and meek ‘yes, sir’. “He always does, Dad.” Dean looked up at his father and scowled. “And I always watch his.”

“No screwing around up there,” John ignored the implicit warning and turned away. “No one gets hurt on this job.”

“Right.” Dean reached out and held out a long, iron rod to his brother. “Sammy.”

“Thanks.” Sam closed a hand around the cold metal and turned away so Dean could stuff lighter fluid and salt into his backpack.

“You sure you’re alright, buddy?” Dean zipped the backpack closed and pulled Sam around by one shoulder. “Sam…”

“It’s fine, Dean. Come on, before he yells at us for dragging our asses.” Sam took off after their dad.

“Dammit.” Dean walked quickly after his brother and resisted the urge to drop an arm down on his shoulders and pull him in. He got the feeling that Sam wasn’t up for being taken care of just then, and that bugged him along with everything else. He’d figure it out eventually, even if he had to corner Sam alone once they got home to do it.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean pulled his head around when he heard his father’s voice call out. He pointed a finger at Sam to stay where he was and jogged to the stairwell. “Not up here, dad!”

“Make sure you’ve checked everything then get down here and help me look!”

“Yes, sir!” Dean turned back and blew out a breath. They’d searched the top three floors with no luck; not one sign of the bones they needed to burn. Meanwhile, the spirit attached to them had killed seven people between the building they were in now and a little library on the other side of town. “You see anywhere else up here we might’ve missed?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Has to be on the next floor down.”

Dean nodded and let Sam go ahead of him down the stairs. He wasn’t an idiot. It’d only taken him five minutes or so of watching his little brother move while they searched to see that the kid was walking funny, like he was stiff… or in pain. Sam stubbornly avoided every question Dean threw at him, determined to keep whatever had happened to himself.

“Stop starin’ at me,” Sam said grumpily as they trooped down the stairs. He moved aside at the bottom and let Dean take the lead.

“I would if you’d tell me what the hell’s wrong already.” Dean gave him a glare and instantly felt guilty when Sam’s eyes dropped. “Hey, we’re good, ok?” He put a hand to his little brother’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“I know. Come on.” Sam gave his brother a push ahead when he heard their dad calling. He didn’t want to anger him again.

Dean reached over and put a hand on Sam’s back and scowled when his brother hissed in pain and jerked away. “Alright, that’s it! Come’re.”

“Dean, no! Don’t…” Sam tried to twist away but wasn’t quick enough to stop his brother yanking his shirts up in the back and then Dean went still. Sam hung his head. “It’s alright.”

“This…” Dean stared down at the red marks he could see above the waist of Sam’s jeans, several of which continued down under the fabric, and shook his head. “This is not alright, Sammy.” His voice was low and filled with barely-contained rage, but his fingers were gentle as he brushed them lightly over the highest mark at the small of Sam’s back. They were roughly the width of his father’s belt. Dean swallowed hard and let Sam’s shirts fall back. He took his brother’s shoulder and turned him so he could look into his misery-filled eyes. “Sam.”

“I…I pissed him off.” Sam spoke softly through a throat tight with emotion. Now that Dean knew, the tears were becoming almost impossible to hold back, especially with Dean’s warm hands on his shoulders offering the comfort he’d wanted so badly. “He… I kicked the bed and… I knew he was already pissed and I was just making it worse. I…”

“If you say you deserved this…just don’t, ok?” Dean impulsively grabbed Sam and pulled him in against his chest, holding on tight and lowered his head down into Sam’s hair. “Knew I shouldn’t have left when I did. I’m sorry, buddy.” He curled his arm more tightly over Sam’s shoulders when he felt his breaths hitch into his chest. “It’s gonna be ok and… it’s never gonna happen again, Sammy. I promise.”

“Dean! Sam! Hurry up!” John’s voice echoed through the hall.

Dean lifted his head to look down the corridor in the direction their dad’s voice had come from and the look on his face was contained danger. He smoothed it carefully away and gently pushed Sam back so he could see his face. “Hey.” Dean brushed tears from his brother’s cheeks and smiled for him. “You hang on ‘til we finish this, ok?”

Sam nodded and took several deep breaths, sucking the tears back with difficulty. “I’m ok.”

“I know you are.” Dean gave him another second and squeezed his shoulder. “You stay behind me and watch my back.”

“On it,” Sam said in a rough voice and smiled up at his big brother for the trust Dean had in him.

Dean strode down the hall, alert for any sign of the pissed off spirit and seething with anger at his father. They were going to have words over it, and if Dad needed to take a belt to someone, it’d damn well be him rather than his little brother. “Dad?” Dean called and knew there was anger in his voice, but he couldn’t hide it completely.

“Here!” John leaned out of the door and saw his sons coming up the hall. “Some sort of old convention hall or something in here.” He waited until they reached him and walked back inside. “I couldn’t get in through the doors on the floor below and the stairs are gone, but I think we can climb down.” He moved across the open space, through a jumble of discarded chairs and tables and pointed over the side. “Bones are right down there.”

“Great. Good. Let’s do it.” Dean moved over to where the stairs used to be and gave his little brother a look, silently telling him to hang back. Sam gave him a short nod and Dean smiled.

John looked at his eldest curiously. There’d been an odd tone in his voice, almost dismissive, and it bothered him. “Dean? What’s goin’ on?”

“Later,” was the terse response in a tone John was not used to hearing from his eldest, and he frowned slightly but let it go. Dean found the top of the collapsed stairs and nodded. “Hey, Sammy. You got that rope in your pack?”

“Yeah.” Sam swung his backpack off his shoulders and opened it. He pulled out the rope and tossed it to Dean, keeping his gaze studiously away from his father. He wasn’t sure he could look at him again just yet, not with the tears still so close to the surface.

Dean caught it and gave him another smile. “Thanks, squirt.” He uncoiled the length and tied it off to the banister at the top of the stairs and then threw the rest over the side. “Ok. You wanna go first, Dad?”

John watched them for a second, looking between his sons and then sighed, “Sure.” He tucked the iron rod he carried through a loop of his belt, trying and failing to not hear the small hiss of indrawn breath from Sam behind him, and then he saw the look on Dean’s face and his stomach rolled. Dean knew. It was a little jarring to realize in that moment that he didn’t feel like the father; he felt like an outsider who’d committed a crime and then thought, with a little spurt of shock, maybe he was. He froze, hanging out over the drop with his hands on the rope and looked up at his eldest. “Dean…”

“You really don’t wanna start this with me right now,” Dean snarled and had to work to rein his temper back in when his father scowled. “Aren’t you the one always sayin’ keep your head in the game, Dad?” They locked eyes for a moment, each feeling certain boundaries slipping and shifting ever so slightly. John realized with a start that he was getting a glimpse of the inner strength of the man his oldest son was on the verge of becoming.

Sam watched them from across the room, able to hear their voices but not what they were saying and groaned. The tension across the back of Dean’s shoulders told him they were talking about what Dad had done. He opened his mouth to tell them to stop and froze. Between him and his family, an apparition began to form. They were too focused on each other, his dad and Dean. They didn’t realize, and it was too close. Sam watched the spirit take form and turn to his family menacingly, raising pale arms over Dean’s unprotected back and that broke his paralysis

“Dean!” Sam ran at the spirit with his iron rod raised. The ghost turned to look at him as Sam swung the rod down into it. Sam felt a power pick him up and yelped in surprise as he went flying. He saw the ghost dispersed, his brother and his dad’s fearful faces turned towards him, and then he was sailing over the railing to the floor below.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted and lunged to the railing.

“Sam!” John dropped his feet from the rail and slid down the rope, heedless of the burns to his hands as he dropped. He hit the floor in a rush and turned to find his youngest crumpled on his side. “Sam? No, no, no. Come on, tiger.” John spoke softly as he brushed Sam’s dark hair from his face and gently turned him over into his lap.

Dean followed his dad down, all but shaking with the need to reach his little brother. He slid to his knees beside them and then reached. He pulled Sam out of his father’s arms and into his own, cradling him against his chest as he looked at their dad fiercely. “You don’t get to touch him right now, you got me?” Dean glared at his father over his little brother.

John was stunned at the level of contained violence in Dean’s tone and the very clear threat. He had known Dean was protective of Sam, obviously, but had never felt the fierceness of that commitment now radiating off his oldest in waves. He nodded and let Dean hold his brother. “I’ll… I’ll take care of the bones before he comes back.”

“You do that.” Dean looked down at Sam, dismissing his dad’s presence and cradling his little brother’s face in a hand. There was a bump already starting to appear high on Sam’s temple, but at least there was no blood.

John moved away and collected Sam’s backpack from where it had landed on its own a few feet away. He looked down at his sons and hated himself a little. What the hell had he done?

“Sammy,” Dean said softly and hitched his brother higher against his chest while their dad moved away. “Wake up, buddy. Come on, wake up for me, ok?” Sam was breathing, which helped calm him slightly, and he could see his brother’s pulse beating strongly in his thin neck. Not for the first time, it struck Dean how small Sam was for his age. He always looked even smaller to Dean like this… hurt. It made him want to bundle Sam up in the Impala and drive off so he could protect him, take him back to before his little brother knew about any of this evil crap. “Sam.”

“How is he?” John asked as he dumped salt over the bones and grabbed the lighter fluid.

“Not wakin’ up,” Dean said angrily. He gathered Sam in against him and slid an arm under his knees before getting to his feet. He looked around the room and spotted a door at the back. A cabinet had been wedged against it, no doubt why his dad hadn’t been able to get in that way. Dean walked toward it with Sam in his arms and looked over his shoulder. “You gonna finish that so I can get him outta here?”

Any other time, John would have firmly slapped Dean down for speaking to him that way, but he couldn’t lie to himself; today, he deserved it and worse. “Thirty seconds.” He squirted lighter fluid over the bones and then dug a book of matches out of his pocket. The temperature dropped suddenly and John watched his breath come out in a cloud. “No you don’t, you son of a bitch.” He lit the matches and dropped them onto the bones just as the spirit appeared again with an angry howl. John watched in satisfaction as the ghost was swallowed in flames and burst apart. Then he was grabbing up Sam’s pack and running after his sons. “Get back.”

Dean nodded and moved aside, letting his dad put a shoulder to the cabinet. He could have put Sam down and helped, he knew. It was safe now. The ghost was gone, but he couldn’t convince himself to do it. He’d already left Sam on his own once today and his little brother had paid the price for it. Dean wasn’t about to let that happen again. “He saved us.”

“I know,” John said and braced his foot against the wall as he growled with effort and pulled the cabinet down. It crashed to the floor and he shoved it aside. John reared back and kicked the door. It burst open in a hail of splinters and dust. “Ok, go. Let’s go.”

“We’re going to a hospital,” Dean told his father in a tone that brooked no argument.

John simply nodded his assent and followed Dean’s fast steps to the stairs and back down to the street. He’d screwed up about as badly as it was possible to without one of his boys ending up dead, and that, only out of sheer luck.

Dean didn’t bother asking if his dad wanted to drive. He went to the Impala and eased into the driver’s seat, sliding Sam in so his brother’s head rested in his lap. “You can meet us there,” he said to his dad as he pulled his door closed, started the car and took off.

“Fuck,” John groaned. He went to his truck and then, rather than getting in, let his head thump into the door. “What was I thinking?”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean looked up over his brother when the door to Sam’s hospital room opened and their dad came in. He gave him a hard look and then went back to carding his fingers through Sam’s shaggy hair. “He’s gonna be fine. Concussion, some bruises.” He flicked an angry glance at his father. “Had to tell them bullies took a belt to him at school. Didn’t want ‘em callin’ in CPS. Not sure they believed me.”

John nodded and sat in the chair beside the bed. He wasn’t sure the sick feeling in his gut would ever leave. “Has he woken up yet?”

Dean shook his head. “He will. Soon. He’s workin’ on it.”

“Good.” John didn’t doubt that Dean knew his brother was close to waking. The connection his sons had to each other was strong and often didn’t need words for them to have whole conversations. Sometimes he felt left out and others… other times he thanked Mary or God or whatever else might be listening that at least his boys had each other. “Dean…”

“It never happens again,” Dean whispered and looked up at his dad again finally. “Sammy pisses you off and you gotta hit somethin’, you come to me.” Dean put his chin up defiantly and stared his dad down. “You don’t ever raise a hand to him like that again. Never, Dad.”

John nodded solemnly. “I won’t. Dean, I’m sorry.” It hurt to realize he was going to have to work to regain the trust of his own sons but he deserved it; he’d done it to himself.

“Don’t tell me. Tell him. Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s dour expression cleared for a smile as he leaned in over his little brother and watched Sam’s eyes slowly flutter open.

“Dean?” Sam blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision and smiled in relief when his brother’s face crystalized and smiled at him. “You alright? Dad?”

Dean’s smiled softened and he rested a hand in his little brother’s hair. “Yeah, buddy. We’re good. You saved our asses. Next time, maybe try it without the Flying Walenda act, huh?”

Sam gave a short, soft laugh and closed his eyes. “You watch…too much late night tv.”

John swallowed against the shine of tears in his eyes for his boys and stood to lean over Sam and take his hand in his. “Sammy.” He felt the slightest flinch from his youngest son and tried not to let it gut him. “Hey, tiger.” John smiled when Sam’s eyes opened again. He squeezed his hand more tightly in his own. “Sam, I… I’m sorry. I stepped outta line today. I lost my temper and it shouldn’t have happened.” He nodded when Sam looked at him in surprise; an apology from John Winchester was a rare thing. “It won’t happen again. Promise, Sammy.”

Sam nodded and managed a small smile of forgiveness for his father, not looking away this time when his father’s gaze caught his own. All Sam could see was sincerity and regret, and under that something deeper that Winchester men never said out loud if they could help it. He turned his head back to Dean, rolling it into Dean’s hand and closed his eyes. “Tired.”

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.” Dean eased a hip onto the side of the bed and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He glanced over at his dad’s face, easily reading the emotions there and sighed. If Sam could forgive, he’d just have to try as well. “You know, coffee would be nice, Dad.”

John looked up in surprise and then coughed to clear his suddenly tight throat. “Yeah. It, uh… probably have to bust out of here in a few hours when no one’s looking. I’ll, uh… I’ll be back.” He set Sam’s hand down on the bed and then touched Dean’s shoulder briefly in thanks before he left.

“I got you, little brother,” Dean said softly as he watched Sam sleep. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you while I’m around. I promise.”  

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	9. For Becksupernatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Becksupernatural - I would like you to set the story either in season 1/2 or 8 :) So, in many fics i've read i found sentences like 'and if it wasn't for dean, he (sam, of course) would have gone right back down', so i was wondering if you could write what would happen to sam if dean isn't there to catch him every time he falls? Maybe you could somehow even let dean be there, watching but unable to touch and help...
> 
> A/N: I went with season 2 on this one. After 2x03 “Bloodlust”. This one… sort of had a life of its own and Dean decided he wanted to tell the story, or most of it, so here you are. LOL I hope this is what you were looking for! :D

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Dean closed his eyes and tried to decide just when he’d lost control of this job so badly; where had he gone so horribly wrong? He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes again. Raising his head to look down at himself took a monumental effort of will and he groaned softly as he looked down his body. Sammy’s gonna kill me, he thought to himself and then gave a wet chuckle as he let his head drop back to the floor. He’d have to live long enough for that first.

“Still with us, Winchester?”

Dean coughed softly and rolled his head over. Black boots walked across the scuffed, wooden floor and stopped next to him. Dean let his eyes drag up the man’s body until he could glare at the shifter’s face. “S…screw…screw you.”

“Be nice.”

Dean grunted when one of the man’s booted feet slammed into his ribs and rolled on his side to try and protect himself.

“Get him up.”

“Ah he… hell,” Dean gasped when the other two shifters appeared and dragged him to his feet. The motion nearly cost him his hold on consciousness, and he spent a few dizzying moments with the room spinning before the shifter who’d spoken grabbed his jaw in a tight grip.

“You’re not dead yet.” The shifter grinned with the borrowed face of the man they’d been trying to save.

Dean figured his little brother would be suffering over this one, wherever he was, and he truly hoped Sam was nowhere near this mess. “More… more beating?” Dean smirked and spat a gob of blood at the shifter’s feet. “Think I got… gotta a couple rib… ribs you missed.”

“You’re awful cocky for someone who’s going to be swimming in his own blood when I’m done.” The shifter smiled and stepped back.

Dean watched him pull a short, slim knife from his sleeve and rolled his eyes. “Call that a kni… knife?”

“Size isn’t everything, Dean.” The shifter smirked and put the point of the blade to the inside of Dean’s elbow. “Oh, hold him still already,” he growled when Dean weakly tried to jerk his arm free. “Bet you’re still kicking yourself for not realizing there was more than one of us at work here, huh?” He pulled the blade down Dean’s left forearm and smiled when the man shouted in pain and blood welled to drip to the floor. “I want you to know I’m being careful to not hit the artery.”

“M’I supposed to… s’posed to thank you? Asshole,” Dean groaned as his legs gave out and only the shifters holding him kept him on his feet. His arm burned with fresh pain, and the feel of his blood flowing and dripping made his skin itch.

“You should.” The shifter moved to Dean’s other arm and flicked the point of the knife into Dean’s wrist. “After all, I did make your little brother a promise.”

Dean went still with shock and pulled his head up to glare death at the creature. “Where… where is he? Where’s my brother, you son’fa bitch!” He shook his head and got his feet back under him as well as he could. “No… no, you’re… screwin’ wi’me.”

“Dean. I’m crushed.” The shifter took Dean’s jaw in his hand again and jerked his head up. “When have I lied to you? Or did you think I was off cleaning my nails of your blood while you were lying on the floor? No.” He leaned in and grinned at the look of slowly dawning fear moving across the hunter’s face. “I was spending a little quality time…” He grinned. “…with Sammy.”

Dean stared in renewed horror as the door on the other side of the room opened and a shifter wearing Dean’s own face walked in with a smile. “No, no, no. Don’t… don’t do this.”

“Already done, Dean, and I have to say,” The first shifter clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Sammy did not react well to my son, there. Has a little shifter PTSD, does he?”

“Shuddup!” Dean shouted and then bent over as far as his captors allowed, coughing. His lungs burned along with his chest and however many broken or cracked ribs they’d given him. Spots began to crawl across his vision, and then the shifter was there again to hold his face up.

“Take a breath. That’s it. Don’t want you passing out yet. Want you to enjoy the show.” The shifter grinned and waited for Dean’s breathing to even slightly. “I told little brother that if he could find you, he could have you. All he has to do is find you.”

“Wha’… wha’s that mean?” Dean wheezed in a few breaths and tried to keep his head up on his own when the shifter let him go.

“If he can find you, and if…” The shifter snorted a laugh. “Well, if he can get you out of this building, you’re free to go. No harm. No foul. We won’t come after you.”

“Why?” Dean sagged in their arms again with his head spinning from blood loss and his heart hammering in his chest with fear for his brother.

“Because I’m just that generous. And it’s fun.” The shifter looked over Dean’s shoulder and grinned. “And there he is now. Turn him around. Let him look, but keep him quiet.”

The shifters holding Dean turned him in a dizzying spin. He grunted in pain when his knees were forcibly kicked out from under him and he went to the floor. They held him kneeling there in a steely grip and a strong hand slapped over his mouth. Dean blinked to clear his vision and realized he was in front of a window that looked down on the lumber mill. Below them was the long central room of the mill. An old conveyor belt ran the length from end to end. Hooks dangled from the ceiling, and staggering into view off to Dean’s right was his little brother. Dean bit the hand over his mouth, trying to get room to call out for Sam, but they held him fast and he received a vicious punch to the side of his head for his trouble.

“Now, now, Dean. You can watch but you can’t help. One-way mirror. He can’t see us.” The shifter moved between Dean and the window, tapping the glass lightly twice and knelt to grin at him. “Sammy’s not doing so well, it seems. Poor kid. You were a little hard on him.” He laughed as Dean’s enraged shout was muffled behind the hands holding him. “I think he was actually doing pretty well at holding his own until you took the knife to him.”

Dean raged and threw what little strength he had left against the things holding him, but it wasn’t enough. He was forced to watch and suffer as Sam stumbled and fell. He landed hard, Dean could tell that even from above, and he shook with anger as Sam managed to climb back to his feet, only to go down again even harder. His little brother curled into himself and Dean wished the light was brighter so he could get a better look at him. A moment later, he was glad it wasn’t because he wasn’t sure he could stand seeing whatever they’d done to him.

“He’s a smart kid, Dean.” The shifter shrugged. “I’m sure he’s probably figured out where you are, and…oh, yes, he has. See? He’s looking toward the stairs.” He chuckled. “Awful long way to those stairs. I’m not sure he can make it, especially if he’s still bleeding. Is he still bleeding?”

“Oh, yeah, he is.”

Dean cringed at the sound of his own voice over his shoulder, so cold and yet so full of glee at Sam’s pain. He couldn’t believe that Sam had to go through that again, had to survive the nightmare of something wearing Dean’s face beating him… hurting him. It had taken days the last time for his brother to not flinch when he woke and saw Dean’s face, and he wondered how long it would take this time. Each flinch had been like a knife through his heart; a condemnation of how he’d failed to protect him and nearly lost him.

In the room below, Sam uncurled and gained his feet again, but it was only a moment before his legs refused to hold him and he dropped. It was killing Dean to be forced to watch. From the time Sam had been a toddler tripping over his own feet right up through various hunting injuries, Dean had always been there to catch him when he fell and to hold him up when he was too weak to do it himself. Hell, he’d carried Sam when he’d had to. To have to watch him suffer and fall on his own now was killing a part of Dean. He wanted to scream at Sam to get his ass out of there, but knew that, even if he could, Sam wouldn’t listen. He knew without any doubt in his mind that, as long as Sam could draw breath, he would not abandone Dean any more than Dean would ever leave him behind. But watching him struggling like this, knowing his little brother could be bleeding out as he watched, made Dean want to lash out and fight back even if it killed him. As if the shifter sensed it, he lunged in suddenly and drove the small knife into Dean’s shoulder.

“Shh. Shh. That’s it. There we go.” The shifter gave the blade a little twist before pulling it back and watching the fresh blood stain Dean’s shirt. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve heard more than one story about how you Winchesters somehow manage to wreak havoc even when you’re bleeding all over the place.” He chuckled softly and patted the side of Dean’s face almost fondly. “Just making sure that you don’t have enough strength left to manage that here. Oh. Oh, dear. I think Sammy’s hitting the end of his rope down there.”

Dean whimpered around the hand muffling him. He knew it and he didn’t care as Sam began a slow, agonizing crawl over the floor of the lumber mill toward the stairs.

“He tracked your cell phone, by the way,” the shifter said conversationally as they watched Sam’s painful progress. “That’s how he knew where to come. When you didn’t answer your phone, he put those college smarts to use and found you.” He chuckled and winked at Dean. “He had a few choice words to say to you for taking off on your own once he found you… well, you know what I mean. If it’s any consolation, it only took him a few minutes to realize that you weren’t… exactly… you. I’m impressed. Honestly, most people never figure it out until they’re bleeding.”

Dean cheered inwardly for his perceptive little brother and just wished he himself hadn’t been so damn fool stupid in the first place. He’d been so focused on not losing Sam so close on the heels of their dad that he’d come to search the mill on his own, figuring he could handle one shifter. Dean closed his eyes when Sam sagged to the floor again and listened to the laughter of the shifters around him.

“You should have listened to Sam when he told you he thought something else was going on,” the shifter said and casually plunged the knife into the meat of Dean’s thigh, enjoying the choked sounds the man made in response. “He was right.” He stood and tossed the knife away across the floor, no longer needing it. “Tie his arms and make sure you duct tape his mouth.”

Dean jerked as his arms were pulled behind him. He would have cried out in pain if not for the hand over his mouth and slammed his eyes closed when he felt his wrists being bound. He looked up at the shifter when he tapped the top of Dean’s head.

“We’re going to leave now. It’s up to Sam whether you live or die.” The shifter grinned. “I think they’ll be finding both your bodies up here in a few days when the work crews come back, but you never know.” He looked down into the mill at Sam Winchester, still lying on the floor and smiled. “Have a nice death, Winchester.”

Dean grunted as he was pushed over to his back hard. All the air left his lungs when one of the shifters holding him stomped his foot into Dean’s stomach. It kept him from crying out to his brother when the hand moved away from his mouth, and a moment later, heavy tape was slapped in its place. He rolled his head and watched the shifters leave and stared death at the creature wearing his likeness when it stopped to give Dean a wink before closing the door. He turned his head toward the window instead and wished he could see down to the lumber mill floor again.

He tried to roll off his bound hands, and the pain from his shoulder and cracked ribs stole what little breath he had. Dean was left panting through his nose for too little air. He fought the blackness rolling down on him, but it was too much and his eyes fell closed.

Sound came back to Dean first and he frowned, hearing something he couldn’t identify, like something heavy being dragged over wood. He tried to open his mouth and jerked when he couldn’t, and it all came rushing back -- the shifters, being bound and gagged, and Sam. Dean snapped his eyes open and tried to move. He moaned in pain behind the tape and then heard the sounds again. He rolled his head toward the door and watched as it swung open slowly. He expected the shifters, returning to finish what they’d started, and his eyes blew wide in surprise when it was Sam who came through the door. Dean watched his brother take a step into the room and then collapse to the floor, and his muffled shouts couldn’t drown out the sound of Sam wheezing for breath. He waited for Sam to lift his head and caught his brother’s blue-green eyes desperately.

“Hang… hang on, Dean.” Sam’s voice was a hoarse whisper through a raw throat and he hung his head as he got to his hands and knees.

Dean could see pain and exhaustion in every line of Sam’s body as his little brother crawled the eight feet across the floor to reach him. As badly as he wanted to do something, anything, to help, he couldn’t. Even lying there, he was fighting the need to pass out again. He could feel it like a dark tide waiting to wash down over him. What little he could make out of his brother didn’t give him any peace. All he could see was blood, blood everywhere, staining Sam’s shirt and jeans and even the shaggy hair on the back of his head was matted with it. Dean’s eyes narrowed angrily when Sam reached him and brought his head up again. His throat was ringed with bruises as though he’d been strangled over and over and Dean knew; the shifter wearing him had seen what the last shifter Sam had met had tried to do to him and used it. He watched Sam’s shaking hand reach up and take hold of the corner of the duct tape. Dean gave him a nod and braced himself as Sam ripped it from his face.

“Sammy!” Dean gasped and sucked in grateful gasps of air. “Hands… get my… untie me.” He needed to get his hands on his brother and see how bad it was.

Sam nodded wearily and then curled forward to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder for a moment. “Jus’… need… need a minute.”

“Ok, buddy,” Dean nodded and swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. “Sam, how bad?”

Sam shook his head and sat back up slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Bull…” Dean coughed and groaned at the fresh waves of pain. “…bullshit.”

“Take… take a breath,” Sam warned his brother and slid his hands under Dean’s shoulder and hip. The amount of blood on his big brother and pooling beneath him was terrifying him along with how little Dean had moved since he came in the room. He took a deep breath of his own, held it and used what little strength he had to push and roll Dean onto his side. “Sorry. Sorry,” he said when Dean cried out and then curled in on himself.

Dean managed to shake his head and somehow not pass out through the waves of agony. He held as still as he could while Sam untied his wrists, grimacing as he felt blood and skin tearing with whatever they had used to bind him. “Sam.”

“Called… called Bobby.” Sam scowled at the phone cord wrapped far too tightly around his brother’s bloody wrists and finally slipped it off. He tossed it away angrily and took Dean’s shoulder, pulling him gently onto his back again. He smirked at his brother weakly. “Asshole who was… was wearin’ your… your face. Pickpocketed his phone when he was on me. Bobby’s comin’.”

Dean brought his right arm up and took hold of Sam’s before he could pull away. “Siddown,” he slurred and tugged, unsurprised when Sam toppled sideways into him. He hissed with pain when his brother’s elbow bumped his shoulder and didn’t give a damn. “Said… asshole said he carved you up.”

Sam nodded and slumped down, finally too exhausted from the pain and the blood loss to stay upright anymore. “Wasn’ tryin’ to kill me… more or less.”

Dean pulled on Sam’s arm a little more until his brother gave in and ended up lying on the floor with his head on Dean’s chest. He put his hand carefully on the back of Sam’s head and turned it a little. “You concussed?” Sam gave him a nod. When he tried to move again, mumbling something about finding bandages, Dean held him down with his hand on his head. “Knock… knock it off. Not goin’ anywhere til’ Bobby gets here.”

“Pushy,” Sam grumbled but he stopped trying to move and instead focused on listening to his brother’s heart beat under his ear. It had taken him a half an hour to crawl the length of the mill and get up the stairs, and the whole time, the one thought that had screamed through his mind was that he would be too late; that he’d find Dean lying dead somewhere. When he’d first opened the door into the room and seen his brother motionless on the floor covered in far too much blood , it had stolen his breath and stopped his heart for a beat until Dean had moved. His world had snapped back into motion then, and Sam was content now to wait for Bobby. He wasn’t leaving Dean alone again any time soon.

“We’re ok, Sammy,” Dean whispered and was comforted by the heavy weight of Sam’s head on his chest. He wished he could get up and carry them both out of there, but for now, he’d be content to wait. They were alive and they were together. “Sorry. S’my fault.”

“Yep,” Sam said quickly and smiled when Dean’s fingers tightened in his hair for a moment. “Kick your ass… later.”

Dean snorted softly and let his eyes close. “Deal.”

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_The End._


	10. For Lucydolly22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Lucydolly22 - could you do a story where Sam gets his wisdom teeth out? Emphasis on the drugged, loopy, slurring fluffiness please. And humor of course, make him loopy for as long as possible and i will be happy. Make it that there are complications if you have to :P
> 
> A/N: Some pre-series Teenchesters here. :D Sam 16/Dean 20 Mostly the requested fluff with just a little touch of fear/angst to keep things interesting. Lol Enjoy!

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Dean slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him in, holding on when Sam tried to pull away. “Quit it. Wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d said something sooner, you idiot.”

Sam groaned and closed his eyes as he leaned into Dean and kept a hand wrapped around the right side of his jaw. The toothache had started days earlier and, in true Winchester fashion, he’d sucked it up and ignored it as long as he possibly could. He’d ignored it until the dizziness had started and he’d ended up almost head-first down on the floor if not for his brother’s quick reflexes. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean smiled and watched his dad talking to the surgeon. He wrinkled his nose at the clinical smell of the hospital. There wasn’t any choice in bringing Sam in once his dad had realized what the problem was, and it’d been hard not to when the right side of his brother’s face had swelled up so bad he couldn’t see out of that eye. “They’ll knock you out soon and pull the tooth and you’ll be good.”

“Teeth,” Sam corrected and whimpered, leaning more heavily into his brother with a fresh wave of pain that crashed through his head and stole his breath. “Two wisdom teeth, impacted and…”

“And coming the hell out.” Dean finished for him and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Sam appreciated the comfort. He really did. The pain from the teeth was excruciating. He thought maybe it was because it was in his head and there was no escape from it, but it felt like the worst pain he’d ever experienced, and that was saying a lot, being that he was a Winchester. He couldn’t sleep and barely ate; even talking hurt, along with swallowing, breathing… Sam groaned again and wished they’d get the hell on with it already.

“Here they come, buddy,” Dean assured his brother and met his father’s worried gaze with a nod. “He’s good. Just hurts like hell.”

“Hello, Sam.” The doctor moved up the side of the exam bed and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I need you to lie back and we’re going to start an IV and get that pain under control for you.”

“Dean. Come on.” John waved a hand and noted the rebellion in his oldest’s eyes at leaving his brother. He smiled fondly and took Dean’s arm. “Let them take care of him. He’s gonna be fine.”

Dean went under protest and with a last one-armed hug for his miserable little brother before he stood up. “You’re gonna be fine, gigantor.” He grinned at Sam’s disgusted look for the name. Dean wasn’t going to let him live down the fact that he’d had the bad fortune to get taller than his big brother any time soon, even if he was still on the scrawny side. Kid needed to put some muscle on and eat more to fill out that huge frame.

“Come on.” John herded Dean out of the room and into the waiting area, pushing him down to a chair and took the one beside him. “The doctor said it should take about an hour and we can take him home later. Doesn’t even have to stay the night.”

Dean nodded. “Good.” He watched the door to Sam’s room close and sighed.

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Sam opened his eyes and wasn’t surprised that his big brother’s face was right there, hovering over him as though he’d been expecting it. He opened his mouth to speak and groaned as pain stabbed into the right side of his jaw and cheek.

“Hey, don’t talk yet, Sammy.” Dean smiled and sat on the side of the bed. “Doc said the painkillers they gave you after the surgery should be kicking in soon. You’ll feel better then.” He smirked because they’d warned him and his father that Sam would no doubt be very high for most of the day. He was looking forward to screwing with his brother. “They said we can take you home soon too.”

Sam smiled at that and brought a hand up to the right side of his face.

“Don’t screw with it, dude.” Dean pushed his brother’s hand away gently. Sam’s face was still a little swollen and he knew they’d packed gauze in one side of his mouth. “Liquid diet for you for a couple of days, Sammy. Dad’s out stockin’ up on soup and ice cream and shit right now.” He chuckled when Sam rolled his eyes.

“S’numb,” Sam said softly, pointing at his face. Even though it hurt, there was a peculiar numb sensation through the right side of his mouth. It made him want to swallow or gag, he couldn’t decide.

“It’ll wear off and boy are you gonna miss it when it does, even with the painkillers.” Dean patted Sam’s shoulder. “Got plenty of the good stuff for ya’, though, when it does.”

“And how’s my patient?”

Sam looked up as the doctor entered the room and gave a short nod to him. “Ok.”

“Good. I need to have a look and then I think we can let you get out of here.” The doctor smiled at both boys and leaned over Sam. “Open up for me, Sam, wide as you can.”

Sam suffered through the examination with only a few whimpers of discomfort as the doctor checked his mouth and pressed on various places on the right side of his face. He sighed in relief when the man finally leaned back.

“Everything’s looking good. Now, it’s still bleeding but that’s to be expected.” The doctor smiled at the worry on the older brother’s face. “I’ve got a bag with some gauze and antiseptic for you so you can change the dressings when you have to. You’re going to want to be careful of the extraction site. Don’t dislodge the blood clot covering where the teeth were. That’s actually a good thing. If that comes out too soon before the area underneath has started to heal, Sam could experience dry socket and believe me, you don’t want to find out how much that hurts.”

Sam shook his head and resisted the urge to run his tongue over the spot inside his mouth.

“I’m sure your dad and brother will make sure that doesn’t happen.” The doctor smiled and patted Sam’s shoulder again. “I’ll go get the paperwork ready for your father when he gets back. You just get comfortable, Sam. Dean, make sure he doesn’t do too much for the next couple days. Any physical activity can make the bleeding worse, even walking around too much.”

“No problem, doc.” Dean promised solemnly and gave his little brother a look that meant he’d take that warning to heart. “He’s not gonna be doing anything but laying around on the couch watching cartoons.”

“S’for babies,” Sam protested.

“Which explains why you still love cartoons,” Dean said with a laugh and easily caught the hand Sam threw at him.

“Jerk,” Sam grumbled softly and closed his eyes to wait for their dad. He just wanted to get out of the hospital and away from the bright lights that were making his head hurt. He didn’t realize at first that the painkillers had kicked in until he heard Dean laughing and then his father’s low chuckle. He opened his eyes and frowned up at them, not having even heard his dad come into the room. “Huh?”

“Dude,” Dean wiped his eyes and shook his head. “You’ve been humming for, like… ten minutes.”

“Watch Sleeping Beauty recently, did you, Sam?” John Winchester asked with another chuckle and bent over his youngest son, smoothing a hand over his forehead. “You were humming ‘Once Upon a Dream’.”

Sam shook his head. “Nu-uh. Wasn’t.”

“Yep, sorry, buddy. You were.” Dean smiled and slid an arm under his brother’s shoulders while his dad took hold of Sam’s hands. “Let’s get you up, huh?”

“We goin’ somewhere?” Sam asked in confusion.

“Gettin’ you home, Sammy. There you go.” John pulled while Dean pushed and he watched Sam’s eyes roll a little drunkenly around the room. He smirked. “He’s gonna be fun for the next couple days.” He fixed Dean with a stern look over Sam’s shoulder. “No, you will NOT be putting on every horror movie you can find just to freak him out.”

Dean snorted a laugh and shrugged innocently. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Uh huh.” John didn’t believe him for a second. He looked back down at his youngest and smiled. “How you doin’, Sammy?”

“Kinda… floaty.” Sam smiled, or tried to, but couldn’t really pull it off around the pile of gauze in his mouth.

“Ok, tiger.” John grinned and took Sam’s legs, pulling them around and over the side of the bed. He shook his head when Sam stood and towered over him by several inches. “What the hell did we feed you?”

Leaving the hospital and the trip back to the motel were mostly a blur for Sam. He kept hearing someone humming Disney tunes and his brother and dad laughing, but he couldn’t figure out why it was funny. Sam sighed happily when they reached the motel and he flopped back onto his bed.

“Nope. No can do, Sammy,” John waved a hand at Dean. “Get him up. I’ll get the stuff from the trunk.”

“Hey, buddy. Come on.” Dean took his brother’s arms and pulled Sam so he was sitting up. “Doc said no lyin’ on your back for a couple days, remember?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

Dean snorted and held him up when Sam tried to lay down again. “Awesome.”

“How come we’re not…” Sam frowned and waved an arm, narrowly missing catching his big brother in the face. “…we gotta job, right? Gotta gank the… the… what were we hunting?”

“Dude,” Dean laughed and caught his brother’s flailing arm. “It’s no big deal. Dad called Bobby. He’s gonna come take care of it tomorrow.”

“But… Ooh, I gotta research!” Sam sat up and stared around. “Do we have a library? We should have a… I like books.”

“Oh, man.” Dean ran a hand down his face, trying not to burst out laughing, but Sam was making it damn hard. “Just relax, Sammy.”

“No! This’simportant!” Sam stared intently at Dean until his eyes started to cross and then blew out a noisy breath in his brother’s face. “We gotta fin’ the thing… the… I can’t ‘member what’s’it called. The thing that…”

“Bobby’ll find it.” Dean gave up and started laughing. He held on to his brother when Sam started listing to one side drunkenly.

“D’joo know that uh… that…” Sam stopped and frowned, running his tongue around his lips for a second. “The average rainfall in ameri-no… South America…it’s…” He grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulders, oblivious to the fact his brother was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. “S’really wet there.”

John returned and dropped several bags onto the near bed and hefted the pillows he’d picked up in his arms. He’d decided not to risk stuffing a pile of ratty motel pillows around Sam while he was healing and picked up a few new ones. “Get these behind him.” His face was split in a wide grin because Sam’s voice had carried out through the door. His youngest son was well and truly high. Not to mention, the picture of him clinging to his brother and staring so intently and seriously at Dean as if imparting information that could change the fate of the world while Dean struggled to contain his laughter was priceless. John did not have a lot of those moments, so he treasured them all the more when they did happen.

Dean quickly propped his little brother up and let Sam ease back into the pillows while he took several deep breaths to calm the laughter. “How’s that?”

“S’fluffy cloud o’ awesome,” Sam snickered and then frowned, putting a hand up to his face. “Face hurts.”

“Ice pack?” Dean chuckled and turned to his dad and got a nod.

“Yeah, lemme grab one.” John had shoved the two ice packs they had into the motel room’s little freezer before they’d left, knowing they’d need them later.

Sam swallowed and grimaced and looked up at Dean. “Wanna spit.”

“Huh?” Dean watched his brother make disgusted faces and then laughed again. “Tasting blood? Ok, hang on.” He went into the bathroom and grabbed the trashcan, brought it back out and handed the little can to Sam. “There you go, dopey.”

“Blech.” Sam leaned over the can and spit several times, scowling when a wad of blood-soaked gauze came out as well.

“Here. Get some juice into him and we’ll put some fresh gauze in there.” John handed Dean a bottle of orange juice and went to the bags on his bed, digging through until he found what he wanted. It was a little irritating to be sidetracked like this, forced to take several days and stop when he’d been in the middle of a job. Bobby, though, had given him a dressing-down worthy of his old Marine Corps commander when he’d suggested finishing it anyway. John smiled ruefully; he’d deserved it. He knew he could sometimes… most of the time… be single-minded when it came to the hunt, but Bobby was right; his sons needed to come first, especially now.

Sam took the ice pack his dad handed him and put it to his face with a grateful sigh as the cold began to seep into his cheek.

“Drink some of this, Sam.” Dean held up the juice and rolled his eyes when Sam shook his head. “Dude, drink the juice or I’ll pour it in ya’.”

Sam scowled but took the bottle. He took several careful swallows with a grimace for the way the blood almost overrode the taste of the juice and handed it back. “Tastes like blood. S’kinda disgusting.”

“You’re kinda disgusting,” Dean said with a grin and set the bottle aside. “Open up. Let Dr. Dean pack that big mouth shut for ya’.”

“Dude! Tha’s just…that’s gross.” Sam scowled and slapped a hand out to his brother that went wide and missed. “Dammit.”

“Behave, boys,” John warned and handed a package of gauze to Dean. “You sure you wanna risk your fingers?”

“He bites me, I’m biting back,” Dean promised and glared until Sam burst into giggles. “We need to get video of this and tease him about it later.”

John shook his head. “No thanks. I like not worrying about him killing me in my sleep.”

“Spoilsport.” Dean grinned again, held up a wad of gauze and tapped his brother’s chin. “Open up.”

Sam decided he could maybe get used to being waited on after a few hours of it. The only time Dean would even let him up off the bed was to take a piss, and Sam was pretty sure his brother would have vetoed that as well if he could have found a way to stop him. He’d started humming again, high on the painkillers the hospital had pumped him full of, and then Dad had given him two more. Now Sam would swear there were spots dancing across the ceiling as his eyes blinked slowly in a daze. He was so sleepy and would have dozed off already if not for the fact that he couldn’t seem to get a full breath no matter how wide he opened his mouth. He could see his dad and his brother at the little table across the room, Dean smoking his dad at poker if the frustrated look on Dad’s face was any indication. Sam decided that he really, really needed Dean right now.

“You know, you used to be more of a challenge, Dad.” Dean grinned unrepentantly at his father and took the pile of pretzels in the middle of the table. It felt… strange almost to just be sitting there doing something like playing cards with his dad; no job, no plans to run out and find something to kill. They were just being… family. He smiled while his dad shuffled the cards and then heard another sound over the cards; a wheezing. “Sammy.”

Dean was off his chair like a shot with the certain knowledge sinking into his gut that something was wrong. “Sam?” He slid in next to his brother and felt his father over his shoulder, but his eyes were on his little brother. Sam’s mouth was open wide. Air whistled in and out and his eyes met Dean’s with a growing look of panic. “Dad? Dad, I don’t think he can breathe!”

“Get him up! Hospital! Now!” John could see a slight blue tinge to Sam’s lips and remembered the short warning the doctor had given him that, in rare cases, sometimes the extraction could cause the throat to swell and close off an airway. He’d told John not to worry about it, that it likely wasn’t a possibility, and John decided right there to introduce the doctor to his fist first chance he got. He ran for the motel room door and the Impala.

Dean leaned down and gathered Sam in against his chest. “Just keep breathin’, Sammy. Please.” He picked him up with a grunt of effort, adjusting his balance until he could walk. Sam simply clung to him with his face in his neck and those frightening whistles as he tried to breathe. “Don’t you give up on me,” Dean said softly and slid quickly into the backseat while their dad held the door. He kept Sam propped against his chest, urging him to breathe as they drove and kept Sam from sliding off the bench seat with every hard turn dad took.

“Almost there,” John said fiercely and took the last turn toward the hospital.

“Dad. Dad!” Dean tipped Sam’s head back as his little brother’s hands scrabbled desperately at his shirt. “No, no, no! Come on, Sammy. Just take a breath!”

John gritted his teeth and put the pedal to the floor while fear choked him. His baby was not going to die because of a damn wisdom tooth. He screeched to a stop outside the emergency room doors and was out of the car and wrenching open the back door before the engine had a chance to go silent. He bellowed for help as Dean staggered through the door with his baby brother in his arms and held on to his eldest when they pulled Sam away from him and Dean snarled, trying to follow.

It seemed like days before a man in green scrubs emerged calling their names and Dean was up out of his chair ahead of his father. “Where’s my brother? Where is he?”

“Dean.” John put a restraining hand on his shoulder and looked at the doctor. “Just tell me he’s alive.”

“He is. Sam’s going to be fine.” The doctor nodded and smiled, trying to relieve some of the soul-crushing terror he could still on both men’s faces. “We have him on a ventilator, and he’ll need to stay on it for a couple of days until the swelling goes down, but he’s going to be fine. Do you want to see him?”

“Stupid damn question. Of course we wanna see him!” Dean glared and blew out a breath when his father’s hand squeezed harder on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Of course you do. This way.”

John followed at Dean’s side through the hospital corridors and then stopped in the door while Dean surged across the room to his brother’s side. Sam lay in the bed with a tube emerging from his mouth. He was pale and, in spite of his height, looked small in the bed. “You’re sure? He’s gonna be alright?” John asked the doctor softly.

“Yes. He wasn’t without oxygen for more than a couple minutes and he woke once while we were intubating him.” The doctor smiled sadly. “He was definitely alert.” He raised a hand at the sudden anger on the father’s face. “We put him out quickly.”

“Thanks,” John said tersely. “I think you can leave now.”

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean sat beside him on the bed and put a hand on the side of his brother’s neck. The tube sticking down his throat seemed too big to fit and he hated it. He smiled though when Sam’s brow wrinkled and he turned his head into Dean’s hand. “Dad, he’s wakin’ up.”

“Don’t let him pull the tube out,” John warned and went to the bed and his boys. “The doctor said he woke up while they were putting the tube into him. He’s probably…”

“Not gonna wake up happy,” Dean finished and nodded. He cupped the side of Sam’s face and saw his dad take hold of both of his hands as Sam’s eyes fluttered slowly open. “Hey, buddy. No, no. Take it easy!” Dean soothed when Sam’s eyes blew wide and he heard a choking sound around the tube in his mouth. “Just breathe. It’s ok. You’re alright.”

“Sam!” John leaned in and waited for Sam’s frantic eyes to meet his. It hurt his heart a little having to hold Sam’s hands with the way he was pulling and straining to get them free. “You stopped breathing. They put a tube in to get you breathing again. I know it’s uncomfortable, but you need to leave it alone for a while, alright?”

Sam calmed under his father’s gaze and Dean’s hand on his neck and tried to relax around the intrusion in his throat. Somehow, he felt like he was breathing and choking at the same time. He nodded after a moment and met his brother’s eyes, trying to let him know that he wasn’t going to try and pull the tube out anymore.

“He’s good, Dad. You can let go.” Dean smiled and patted the side of his brother’s neck.

John trusted Dean’s assessment and let one of Sam’s hands go. He kept hold of the other one for himself and sat on the other side of the bed. “Sam, I’m sorry about this. Guess we should have stuck around in the hospital a little longer, huh?”

Sam frowned and looked at his dad and then at his brother before shaking his head once.

“Sam says it’s not our fault.” Dean chuckled, a little dizzy with relief. “Scared the hell out of us, Sammy,” he said suddenly and swallowed hard around the lump of emotion when he felt his brother’s other hand fist in the back of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine, but the tube’s gonna have to stay in for a day or two. Don’t gimme that face.” He smiled down at Sam’s bitch-face.

John leaned back and watched his boys with each other, somehow managing to carry on a conversation even though Sam couldn’t speak. He smiled and let the knot of tension that had coiled in his gut back in the motel room ease away. He felt Sam’s hand squeeze his and looked up to give another smile to his youngest.

“You know the worst part about that tube?” Dean quirked a brow at his brother with a smirk. “You’re all loopy on pain meds and you can’t hum Disney tunes at us anymore.” He laughed when Sam’s free hand thumped into his back. “Bitch.”

John slapped the back of his oldest son’s head and gave Sam a nod as he smiled around the tube. “I’m gonna go grab some coffee. Dean, don’t irritate your brother.”

Dean snorted. “Uh huh.” He rolled his eyes at Sam and grinned again, putting his hand back on his brother’s neck. “Seriously, dude. You alright?” Sam gave him a short nod and fisted his hand in the back of Dean’s shirt again, a silent plea for him not to leave. “Not goin’ anywhere, little brother.”

Sam stopped fighting the tube in his throat and relaxed into the bed. The drugs in his system hadn’t prevented him from feeling terror when he couldn’t breathe, and he’d thought he was going to die in the car and the last thing he’d see would be Dean’s panicked eyes. They were calm now and locked on his and Sam kept hold of Dean’s shirt, needing the contact as he let his eyes fall closed in relief. If Dean was calm, Sam knew he was safe.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	11. For SPNmum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For SPN Mum - For my story, I think I'd like to see Aunt Fay meet Jody Mills (you can decide the circumstances and when it takes place), but it should happen because of a case gone wrong for Sam and Dean. Both boys get pretty banged up, both physically and emotionally, and it takes Jody and Fay working together (with some 'mothering' and gossip) to make them better.
> 
> A/N: Set after 8x20 “Pac-Man Fever” This one may have gotten away from me a little while I had fun with the premise I came up with. Lol I’m sure no one minds.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Get up, Dean.” Sam pulled on his brother’s arm and looked over his shoulder. “They’re getting closer. Come on. You can do this. Up!”

Dean groaned and pulled his legs back under him, hearing the desperation in his brother’s voice. “Workin’… on it. Shit.” He knew damn well Sam was just as banged up as he was, maybe worse, but given the way his ribs felt right then, it’d be a toss-up who’d taken the harder hits. “Friggin’… ghosts. And damn should’a finished.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam dragged Dean along with him through the graveyard toward the woods behind it. “I’m sure the cops… crap.” He hunched over and had to fight to catch his breath as they moved. “Sure the cops would have just stood back and let us finish desecrating the g-grave.”

“Sammy?” Dean didn’t miss the hitch in Sam’s voice and tried to take more of his own weight and get a look at his brother at the same time.

“Keep moving,” Sam said fearfully and made sure his brother didn’t get a chance to have a look at Sam’s left side. It would stop them in their tracks, he knew, if Dean caught sight of the blood, or worse... the bullet hole in the left arm of his jacket. The ghost had appeared just as soon as Dean had climbed out of the grave. Sam had been forced to watch as his brother was flunginto an angel statue so hard that it cracked and broke with him. A moment later, the spirit of one very pissed off Jack Kreacher had picked Sam up, avoiding the round of rock salt from his shotgun, and thrown him down into his grave. Sam could feel large splinters of wood from the shattered coffin digging in and moving in his side and his leg. It was a sickening feeling, and he did his best to ignore it as they moved.

“How’d they even… even know we were there?” Dean grumbled and wrapped his right arm around his chest to try and hold his shifting ribs in place. The officers had arrived while Dean was crawling out of the wreckage of the statue. The cops had started shouting as Sam crawled out of the grave with a shotgun in his hands, and then the bullets had started flying. He supposed they sort of owed the ghost a thank you. If Jack’s angry spirit hadn’t returned just then and distracted the cops by making them piss themselves, he and Sam might have both ended up dead. It gave them the distraction they needed to run and get the hell out of Dodge.

“Think… I think it’s still just those two cops tryin’ to chase us,” Sam said and stopped at the low, stone fence surrounding the cemetery. “Hang on.” He climbed painfully over, doing his best to hide just how wounded he was, and then reached back to help his big brother. “Careful.”

“Got… got it. I got it.” Dean slung one leg over the fence and would have gone down but for Sam’s arm across his chest as the motion sent pain exploding through his chest. It took his breath away and he fought to breathe through it.

“Easy.” Sam held him up and looked back out over the graveyard. He saw the beams from two flashlights waving back and forth through the darkness and knew they couldn’t rest. “We need to move. Come on.” He pulled on his brother’s arm and got it over his shoulder again. “They look at the ground, they’ll know right where we went.”

“Huh? How?” Dean looked down and back the way they’d come.

Sam kicked himself for saying that and shook his head. “Just keep moving.”

Dean’s mouth opened as the moonlight hit the grass between the graves just right and he saw dark, red drops glistening in a trail for a moment. “Son’fa bitch. You’re bleeding?”

“Not now, Dean. You can sit on me later.” Sam tugged him into a faster walk into the trees. “Gotta get out of here. Go back for the car later.”

Dean knew he was right. If the cops caught up with them, they were neither one of them in a condition to break out of a jail, although, if they looked bad enough, the cops might send them to an ER instead and Dean could get them out of that no problem. “Maybe we should…we should let ‘em nab us.”

Sam shook his head. “Already shot at us once and they saw a ghost. Dude, they’re trigger happy now.”

“Dammit.” Dean groaned again and looked through the trees. “Lights. House, there’s a hou… house up there.”

“What do you wanna do? Knock on the door and explain all this?” Sam gestured at the both of them and snorted. “That’d go over well.”

“We’ll tell ‘em we got jumped.” Dean put his weight into Sam’s side to turn him toward the house. “Dude, you’re bleeding, which means you’re hurt worse than you’re fessin’ up to, and I’m barely walkin’. They’re gonna catch up to us.”

Sam sighed in defeat and got them moving toward the house. “Fine. But if we end up in jail again, you get to play the bitch this time.”

Dean snorted a laugh and then hunched over himself. “Dammit! Don’t… don’t make me laugh. Crap.”

Sam smiled and kept them moving as he heard muffled voices calling out behind them. They didn’t have a lot of time to get out of sight. He dug in his pocket as they moved and pulled out his phone, scrolled down his contacts and put the phone to his ear.

“Who you callin’?” Dean asked and focused on getting one foot in front of the other.

“Just in case we get nabbed.” Sam smiled. “Hey, Jody. We, uh… we might need some help from a friendly police officer here.”

Dean listened to Sam give her the Cliff’s Notes version of events and jerked when he heard a gunshot ring out behind them. “Assholes are shootin’… shootin’ at trees.”

“No; that wasn’t aimed at us,” Sam assured her. He closed his eyes for a moment to pull up the map of the area in his head. “We’re heading to a house on, uh… I think it’s Blackmoor Street. Behind the cemetery, through the woods. I’ll call you once I’ve got the address.” Sam sighed and hitched Dean’s arm higher on his shoulder. “We’re, uh… we’re banged up some, yeah. Just, you know, get here?” He hung up when she promised to be there and tucked his phone away. It was nice to know there was still someone they could count on for help when they really needed it. “She’s only a couple hours away.”

Dean nodded and listened to the sounds of pursuit behind them as they crossed the backyard from the woods to the single-story house. He knew Sam was close to finished whether his little brother realized it or not. Sam was slowing, he was letting Dean’s arm slip, and he was spending more and more time staring at the ground in a daze. “Sam. Sammy. Stairs, dude,” Dean prompted when it looked like Sam was just going to walk into them.

“Huh? Right. Sorry. Come on.” Sam went up the steps onto the porch as quickly as he could, leading Dean and fighting the spots crawling across his vision. He let Dean knock on the door and turned to look out into the woods again. “I don’t see them. Think maybe we lost… lost them. Whoa.”

Dean caught Sam between his arm and the door when he swayed. “Easy.” He’d been ready for it, and held him up ignoring his own pain and banged harder on the door. The light beside them came on blinding Dean for a moment, and then the door swung inward a moment before Dean realized what was going to happen. “Crap. Crap!” He tried to catch hold of Sam as the door moved behind him but was too slow and his little brother toppled inside the door.

“Oh, my God!”

Dean heard the woman’s voice raised in alarm, but he was focused on his brother who hit the floor with a grunt and then didn’t move. “Sammy?”

“Dean?”

“What?” Dean jerked his head over to the woman and it took him a moment of staring gape-mouthed before it sank in. “Aunt Fay?”

“What…” Fay shook her head and looked down at Sam and back up to Dean. “Alright. Priorities. Questions later. Get in here and help me with him.”

Dean stared a few seconds longer and then shook his head. He forced himself to move and knelt slowly next to his brother. “Sam.”

“You two ever do anything that doesn’t involve dropping buckets of blood?” Fay asked ruefully and brushed Sam’s dark hair out of his eyes. She looked up at Dean and thought they both looked somehow older than the last time she’d seen them. “Tell you what. I’ll pull Sam out of the way and you get the door closed. I’m gonna assume you have something to do with those gunshots I heard.”

Dean nodded and groaned, leaning around to get a hand on the door. “Not what you think.”

“Uh-huh.” Fay slid her hands under Sam’s shoulders, grimacing at the blood she felt there and pulled, dragging the tall man back along her hall until he was half in the kitchen door.

Dean swung the door closed and got painfully back to his feet. He hit the switch for the outside light, flicking it off so it wouldn’t draw the officers’ attention if they came out near the house. “We were taking care of a ghost.” He leaned on the wall and watched Fay roll his brother gently to his back and examine him more closely. “Cops showed up right after Casper kicked our asses and started shooting.”

“That explains this, then.” Fay picked up Sam’s left arm and shook her head. “He’s been shot.”

“Jesus.” Dean stumbled the few steps to his brother and knelt next to him. “What the…” His hands hovered over his brother’s left side and the amount of blood soaking Sam’s clothes scared the crap out of him, coupled with the bits of old coffin wood he could see stuck through and into Sam’s side and thigh like massive splinters. “Tossed him into the grave.”

Dean reached out, trying to see where the bullet had hit. Fay had indicated his arm, and Dean finally found the spot where the bullet had torn through the upper part of the arm of Sam’s jacket. But…with all the blood, Dean was almost afraid to ask his next question. “Can you tell, is he hit anywhere else?”   
  
Fay shook her head. “I don’t think so. Nothing that penetrated, at any rate. At least not that I can see. If there’s a graze under all that blood, we’ll find it when we clean him up.”

Dean sagged with relief. His own pain and exhaustion that that been momentarily forgotten on hearing Fay say, ‘He’s been shot,’ came flooding back, and he had to fight the urge to just curl in on himself until it stopped hurting.

“And you?” Fay asked, watching Dean with every bit as much concern as she had for Sam’s condition.

“Uh, statue.” Dean snorted softly and looked down at his chest. “Think it….rearranged my ribs a little.” He fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Jody. “What’s the address here, Fay? Jody!” Dean said when she answered on the first ring. “Hey, we’re safe for now, I think.” He gave her the address, repeating what Fay told him and sagged forward a little further. “We’ll be fine.” Dean closed the phone and put it away, looking up to Fay’s curious gaze with a smile. “Sheriff Jody Mills. Friend of ours. She’s gonna be here soon. Couple hours.”

“Good. She can help me with Sam when she gets here, since I can’t lift him.” Fay smiled and stood, moving over beside Dean.

“I can get him,” Dean said and glared up at her when Fay took his arm and pulled him away. “You were this irritating in Alaska, too, dammit.”

Fay chuckled and nodded. “Come on. Up you get.” She pulled and got him to his feet, then slipped under his arm to steady him as they walked down the hall to her living room.

“What are you even doin’ here?” Dean looked down at her.

Fay smiled and pointed him toward the couch. “Well, after those shadow things and the volcano… I decided Alaska was just a little too dangerous to be comfortable with anymore.” She laughed. “George is still up there running his boat. Here, sit down. There you go.”

Dean lowered himself to the couch and looked back out into the hall. “Sam.”

“I’m gonna go triage him right now, alright? If I think it’s safe enough, I’ll drag him in here.” Fay rolled out her shoulders with a chuckle. “Need to start lifting weights if I’m gonna be carrying you boys around again.”

Dean watched her go and leaned back into the couch, trying to find a way to sit that allowed him to take a deep breath, but it was hard. He wanted to go help carry his brother, but she was right. He was in no condition to pick Sam up. He’d probably end up with a punctured lung from one of the broken ribs, and wouldn’t THAT just be fun. “Son of a bitch.”

Fay knelt next to Sam again and clicked her tongue. “You poor boy. Nothing’s ever easy for you, is it?” She went over him quickly and efficiently and decided she could risk dragging him to the living room, mainly because she knew if she didn’t, Dean would be right back out in the hall.

Dean watched Fay come back into the living room backwards and pulling Sam a few inches at a time with a wry smile. “Kinda fun watchin’ someone else deal with his gigantor ass.”

Fay snorted and stopped when she had the young man beside the couch. She pulled a pillow off the end and slipped it under Sam’s head then stood and stretched her arms out again. “Alright. Stay put. I’m gonna go grab my first-aid kit. Luckily for you, I keep it stocked thanks to two danger-prone young man who stumbled into my life in Alaska.”

Dean grinned and then turned his gaze down to his brother when she left. He was too pale and too still for Dean’s liking. He was just sitting forward to ease himself to the floor when Fay returned with a large, red bag and glared at him. “Wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” he said quickly and smiled.

“Keep your ass on that couch, Winchester.” Fay said without heat and knelt beside Sam again. She lifted him up enough to ease his left arm out of his jacket and laid him back. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“We got the same blood type,” Dean told her, watching while she took out a pair of blunt nosed scissors and starting cutting Sam’s shirts apart. “Hook me up if he needs it. You know how to do that, right?”

The ex-army nurse nodded. “Yeah, I do. Hoping I won’t have too. That’s not something I want to try outside of a hospital.”

Dean snorted softly. “Wouldn’t be the first time for us. Geez.” He groaned as Fay eased the shreds of Sam’s shirts away from his chest and arm.

“I’m going to have to pull these out.” Fay took hold of one of the splinters of wood stuck in Sam’s stomach and gave it a pull. It slid out in a wash of fresh blood and she tossed it aside. “You stay there.” Fay looked up when saw Dean’s legs move. “You’re no good to me in your condition. I’ve got him. Stay put and try not to puncture a lung.”

Dean growled but resettled and resigned himself to being forced to watch her care for Sam. The more blood Sam lost into her carpet, the more Dean thought they should risk a hospital. “Fay…”

“It’s alright.” Fay glanced up from taping bandages over the three wounds she’d made pulling out pieces of wood and bent over another. “I know it looks bad, but I think it’s just blood loss keeping him out. Most of this…” She leaned down and pressed gently around a wound high on the left of Sam’s chest. “…it’s superficial really. The only one I’m actually concerned about is that bullet hole. It’s still in there. I’m gonna have to dig it out.”

“Watch his breathing.” Dean moved carefully to get his jacket off and watched her pull a long piece of wood from Sam’s thigh. “He’s got… well, it’s complicated, but he ain’t in the best of health right now. He, uh… he coughs blood sometimes.”

Fay jerked her head up in surprise. “Why isn’t he in a hospital?”

“Because there’s not a hospital on the planet that can fix him, Fay. Not this,” Dean added softly. “It’s complicated.”

Shaking her head, Fay went back to work on Sam. Now that she was really looking, she could see the signs of some long-term illness in him. He was thinner than she remembered, and when she took a moment to put a stethoscope to his chest, she could hear a disturbing rattle in his lungs that did not bode good things. She bandaged over the rest of his wounds and turned her attention to his arm. “The floor is not the ideal place to be doing this.”

Dean nodded miserably. “I know.” He ran a hand through his hair and suffered when Sam jerked as Fay pushed a pair of forceps into his arm. “He’s gonna… you gotta stop for a sec or he’s gonna wake up swingin’.”

Fay pulled the forceps back, set them aside and braced her hands on Sam’s shoulders. His eyes flew open, and she bore down on him before he could rear up. “Sam! Sam, it’s alright. It’s Fay!”

“Sammy!”

Fay watched fondly as Sam’s head jerked toward his brother’s voice and he instantly calmed. She smiled and eased up on his shoulders. “Sam?”

“Sorry.” Sam let his head fall back and his eyes slammed shut with the waves of pain.

“Dude, there’s a bullet in your arm,” Dean leaned out as far as he could and then nudged his brother’s hip with the toe of his boot. “She’s gotta get it out, and you’re gonna wish you’d stayed asleep.”

“All… already do,” Sam groaned and cracked his eyes open to look up the woman. “Fay?” he frowned and turned his gaze to his brother. “When’d we get to Alaska?”

Dean gave a soft chuckle and leaned back. “She moved here.”

“It’s alright, Sam.” Fay smiled down at him and rested a hand along his face for a moment. “I moved here a couple months ago. I’m as surprised as you are, sweetie. Now, can you hold still for me while I do this?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I… ok.” He rolled his head toward his brother and closed his eyes while the room swam. “Prob’ly gon… gonna pass out ‘gain.”

“Ok, Sam. You go ahead if you need to.” Fay gave his cheek a pat and picked the forceps up again. She hated to do it and cause him even more pain, but the bullet would only cause more problems down the road.

Watching anyone else cause Sam pain, even to help him, pissed Dean off, but he smiled when he felt his brother’s good hand clamp around his calf. “Breathe through it, Sam,” Dean urged as Sam’s breathing hitched and he began to arch off the floor in agony while Fay pushed the tool further into his arm.

“Almost,” Fay bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. She’d felt the forceps nudge metal and worked to let the tongs slide around the bullet. She grinned, feeling sweat dampen her brow and opened her eyes. “Got it. I got it, Sam. Just another minute.”

Dean saw the moment Sam lost his battle with the pain. His brother collapsed into the floor and he felt Sam’s hand loosen its death-grip on his leg and fall away. “He’s out again. He alright?”

Fay pulled the bullet free and let it drop to the floor with the forceps as she put a hand to Sam’s neck. She blew out a breath in relief and nodded. “Little faster than I’d like, but yeah. He’s alright.” She disinfected the bullet wound and bandaged it and finally rose from Sam’s side with a groan for her aching knees. “Ok, pretty boy. Let’s get that shirt off.”

Dean was surprised into a laugh. “Glad to see you haven’t changed, Fay.”

“At my age, flirting with young men is a perk.” Fay smiled and sat beside him on the couch. “Just let me do most of the work, alright?” She eased Dean’s flannel and then his t-shirt off as painlessly as she could and sucked in a breath at the sight of his chest. Livid bruises crawled across the center of his chest and around his right side. “You said a statue hit you?”

Dean grimaced as she pressed carefully around his ribs. “More like… more like I hit the statue. Crap, Fay.”

“I know. Sorry. I need to see how bad it is.” Fay picked his arm up and settled it on her shoulder to give her better access. “Keep it there. You know how lucky you two are that I’m a former medic?”

“We owe you our lives more than once,” Dean said seriously and met her eyes, giving her a smile. “We know it.”

Fay nodded and bent back to his chest. “I know you do.”

Dean suffered through what felt like an hour, but was really only a few minutes, with Fay pressing her fingers into and across his chest. He’d have sworn she was trying to find the most painful spots and torture him with them if he didn’t know her better. He was gasping for air and sweating by the time she put his arm down and leaned back. “Verdict?” he asked breathlessly.

“Well, you’re right. They’re not in one piece.” Fay patted his leg and leaned down, digging a long, wide roll of bandage out of her bag. “Definitely two broken or damn well cracked to hell, maybe three. You planning on getting up and moving again?” She held up the roll of bandage. “Because if you are, I’m wrapping them first. Don’t need you bending over and puncturing a lung.”

“When Jody gets here,” Dean lifted his arm back to her shoulder in a silent request for her to do it, “we’ll have to get… get outta here. Cops are probably still looking.”

Fay nodded and bent to her task again. She wrapped the bandage around his chest, making it just tight enough to give him some support without cutting off his breathing. “I’m not sure you should be going anywhere anytime soon.” She nodded down to Sam. “He’s certainly in no condition to move right now.”

Dean tried to breathe as normally as he could and heaved a sigh when she was finished. “Thanks, Fay. I know. But if they find us here…”

“Like I’d turn you over to a bunch of badge-wearing pansies.” Fay chuckled. “Relax, Dean. You’re safe here.”

Dean’s head jerked up at a knock on her front door and he reached behind him with a grimace to take out his gun. “You sure about that?”

Fay nodded firmly and waved him off. “Stay there. I’ll handle this.” She stepped over Sam and went into the hall. She took a moment to compose herself, pull a sweater on over her bloodstained shirt, and quickly drag a throw rug from further up the hall to cover the pool of blood where Sam had been laying. She took a deep breath and then pulled open the door. “Yes, officer?” She said to the woman in uniform on her porch. “Little late for going door to door, isn’t it?”

“No, I got the right place ifyou have two Winchesters holed up here. I’m Jody.” Jody smiled and held out her hand. “Sheriff Jody Mills. The boys gave me this address.”

“Jody?” Dean’s voice called from inside.

“Well, come on in then!” Fay took Jody’s arm and pulled her inside, quickly shutting the door. “Don’t want the locals seeing you on my doorstep and starting to wonder.”

“Dean? Sam?” Jody followed Dean’s voice around the corner and her eyes went wide at the sight of them. “Holy crap, Dean! What the hell happened to you two?” She pulled off her jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. “Can’t you leave you guys alone for five minutes.”

Fay laughed, following her into the living room and smiled at Dean. “I like her.”

“Sam?” Jody dropped down beside the younger Winchester and smoothed a hand over his brow, her expression tightening as she got a good look at him.

“He’ll be alright, I think,” Fay reassured her. “He passed out while I was digging the bullet out of him.”

“Bullet!” Jody looked up at Dean in shock. “Just how into it with the local cops did you get?”

“They saw the ghost and freaked the hell out.” Dean groaned and eased forward on the couch, trying to sit up straighter while his chest protested. “Sam holding a shotgun and climbing out of a grave looking like a Thriller reject probably didn’t help either. We ran. Didn’t even get to toast the asshole that did most of this.”

“Aw, Sam,” Jody sighed and brushed his long hair out of his eyes with a sad smile.

“Hey, hurt here too, ya’ know.” Dean whined and smirked when Jody chuckled and looked up at him.

“Alright. So what do we do?” Jody leaned back and kept a hand on Sam’s shoulder, trying not to be freaked out by the amount of blood and the bandages covering the left side of his body. “You can’t go back out there. Whatever you did in that graveyard, half the town’s cops are out searching the streets right now. I’m not even sure I could get you out to my car without being seen.”

“Dammit,” Dean groaned. He stood, or tried to. His ribs pulled, and pain shot through his chest and set off stars behind his eyes. Dean panted for breath and opened them again to find he was half-lying on the couch with Jody and Fay hovering over him.

“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere, Dean.” Fay patted his shoulder. She looked at Jody and smiled. “Think you can help me carry Sam into the bedroom? It’s just across the hall.”

“Not leavin’ him alone,” Dean argued and tried to sit up again only to have two sets of hands push him back.

“There’s a recliner in my room,” Fay told him with a smile. “You shouldn’t lay flat anyway. Just let us get Sam moved, and we’ll come back for you.”

Dean growled, unhappy at being left behind but sighed. “Jody? There’s a bag in the hall.”

“The usual collection of Winchester goodies?” Jody asked with a smirk and nodded. “I’ll grab it after we get him moved.”

“Thanks.” Dean let himself sink back into the couch and couldn’t help snorting a laugh while the women grunted, groaned and cursed as they lifted his brother between them and carried him slowly from the room. He had a go at sitting up again once they were out of sight but found he couldn’t get out of the semi-reclined position without ending up gasping for breath and trying not to pass out, even with his ribs wrapped. “Shit.”

Fay returned, rubbing her shoulders and shook her head. “That boy is too damn big for his own good. You’re turn, handsome.”

“Gotta salt the house, Fay. And other stuff.” Dean took the hand she held out and took a breath, holding it against the flash of pain as she pulled him up.

“Alright. Just try to breathe, Dean,” Fay said softly and held on to his shoulders when his head dropped forward. “Don’t you make us carry you too.”

“I’m not pickin’ him up too.” Jody came into the living room and watched Dean trying to get his head back up. She gave him a lopsided grin. “He whines.”

“Do not… whine,” Dean lifted his head finally, feeling the need to pass out easing. “Ge’me up.”

Jody slipped in on his other side and took his right shoulder while Fay took his left. They braced him and pulled together until Dean was standing, swaying between them. “Dean?”

Dean nodded and leaned heavily on the women. “Oh… ok. I’m… I’m good.” He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Wish my ears would stop… stop ringing.” He froze and jerked his head up. “That’s not my ears!”

Jody whipped her head toward the hall and realized she was hearing it too. “Oh, my God. Is that…”

“The EMF. Sammy!” Dean lurched into motion, only keeping his feet thanks to Fay’s grip on him. He could hear the EMF meter whining from the bedroom, and Jody broke into a run.

Jody slid to a stop in the hall, catching herself on the door of the bedroom and ran inside. She stopped and stared for just a second as a ghost materialized beside Sam’s bed and leaned down over the younger Winchester. “No!” she shouted and lunged over the floor for Dean’s bag. She tore the shotgun out of the bag, growled with frustration and dropped it when she saw the old, iron poker just under it. She tore it out of the bag and whipped it up through the spirit as its hands reached for Sam’s chest. The ghost dispersed with an angry cry and Jody knelt there catching her breath. “Holy crap.”

“Sam!” Dean appeared in the door with Fay and looked at Jody on the floor. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It was here. Ghost.” Jody got to her feet and sat on the bed beside Sam. “He’s fine. It didn’t get to him.” She turned to look at Dean as he came unsteadily into the room. “Just how bad did you piss this guy off?”

Dean shook his head and moved so he could see his brother. “You sure? He does not need to go another round with that bastard.”

“Yeah. Sit already.” Jody stood and took Dean’s shoulder again. With Fay’s help, they got Dean into the recliner next to the bed and let him rest back into it. Jody had pulled it right next to the bed, knowing that Dean would want to be close to his brother, and she smiled knowingly when he stretched an arm out to brush his fingers over Sam’s shoulder.

“Salt the damn room already,” Dean said angrily and then blew out a breath at the look on Fay’s face. “Sorry. Please.”

Jody handed the iron rod to Dean and bent to the bag. “I’m gonna veto the shotgun. Cops will hear it and then we’ll really be in deep.” She took out the container of salt and went to the window behind Dean. “Fay, you ever desecrated a grave before?”

“What? Jody, no.” Dean grabbed hold of her arm when she leaned back from the window.

“Dean. He’s coming after Sam for whatever reason. He needs to be taken care of.” Jody smiled at him and moved away. “Besides, this won’t be the first time I tossed salt and lighter fluid in a grave. Bobby…” She stopped and smiled sadly then shook herself. “Anyway. Come on, Fay. Let’s make our boys safe.”

“Dammit.” Dean groaned and looked over at his brother. “This job sucks, Sammy. We are takin’ a week off after this.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean woke with a start, unsure what had caught his attention and then felt a hand gripping his on the bed beside him. “Sammy?” Dean turned his head and sure enough, Sam was awake and looking at him.

“Dean? Where…” Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Did I see…Fay?”

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, buddy. You’re in her bed.” He grinned at Sam’s surprised look. “She patched us up. Jody’s here too.”

“Jody?” Sam rose up a little and then dropped back with a groan. “Wh… where?”

“They went to finish toasting old Jack. Son of a bitch showed up here,” Dean told him and shifted, trying to cover the moan of pain the movement caused. He looked at his watch and frowned. “They’ve been gone a while. Maybe I should…” He stopped in the act of trying pointlessly to move out of the chair when he heard the back door open and bang closed. “’Bout damn time. Jody? Fay?”

“Here, Dean.” Jody appeared in the bedroom door. She was sweat-streaked and dirty but gave him a grin. “That was entertaining. Fay should be back in a minute.”

“What happened?” Dean looked at her carefully and didn’t see any injuries which was a relief.

“Well, we needed to distract your two pet police officers.” Jody rolled her eyes and sat on the bed next to Sam’s hip and smiled at him. “If they were in my department, I’d suspend ‘em both for being criminally stupid.” She rolled her eyes. “Fay went off in the woods with a sheet and made a few noises. They went running.”

“Holy crap. They fell for that?” Dean laughed softly.

“Oh, yeah, they did.” Jody nodded. “While they were gone, I got to the grave. Got him covered in salt and lighter fluid right as he showed up, the bastard.” She grinned at Dean. “I let him watch me toss the matches in. He looked a little pissed before he disappeared.”

“Knew I liked you, Jody.” Dean said with a laugh.

“You’re alright?” Sam asked in a weary voice and fingered her dirty sleeve.

“Well, then we sort of had to run. Turns out my night vision ain’t what it used to be.” Jody chuckled ruefully. “Took a few dumps in the dirt before I got back to the house and…” She stopped when the back door opened again. “There she is. I’m gonna go make sure she’s ok.”

Dean watched her leave and gave a lopsided smile. “She’s good.” He look up at his brother and frowned. “Sam? How you feelin’? You’re awful quiet for someone who oughta be askin’ a hundred different questions.”

“Tired,” Sam whispered and closed his eyes. He hurt as well. Every inch of him ached, and worse, he could feel the unnatural heat of a fever beginning to burn through him. “Kinda can’t keep… keep m’eyes open.”

“Shit. Fay!” Dean yelled and tried to sit up further to reach his brother. “Dammit!” He managed to roll slightly to his left and got a hand on Sam’s bare arm. He was still wearing only his jeans with the bandages making a patchwork over the left side of his chest and arm and his arm was warm. Too warm. “Sammy?”

Sam rolled his head toward Dean’s voice again, fighting the need to let go and slip back into sleep. He cracked his eyes open and frowned. “S’at sound?”

Dean’s mouth fell open in shock as the EMF meter in his bag started whining again. “JODY!” He bellowed it and wrapped an arm across his chest with the resulting wave of pain. Dean fumbled beside him and found the iron rod Jody had given him earlier. He brought it up as the temperature in the room dropped and his breath frosted out between his lips. “Son of a bitch! How?” Jody said they’d salted and burned the bastard, and Dean couldn’t understand as Jack’s ghost materialized with a hollow roar of rage.

“Dean!” Sam saw the spirit appear and desperation had him rolling to his right side, trying to get between his wounded brother and the angry ghost even as it caused pain to sing through his body.

Dean couldn’t get his body out of the recliner. His chest wasn’t listening to him as he tried to move, and he snarled in rage when the ghost moved toward Sam yet again. “No, you don’t! He threw the iron rod so it sailed through the ghost as Jody and Fay appeared in the door. Jack screamed and dispersed yet again as the rod clattered to the floor. “Jody! I thought you said you took care of him!”

“I did!” Jody stared at the spot where the ghost had been and shook her head. “This isn’t… I mean he can’t be!”

“Dean.” Sam gasped and hunched over onto his side. “Gotta be… tied to… to something else.”

“Shit!” Dean eased back into the chair and grabbed the arm Sam held out in his direction. “He’s got a fever, Fay.”

“Sit back already before you puncture something,” Fay glared at Dean and pointed an imperious finger at him as she went to Sam and sat next to him. “Hey, Sam. Let’s get you on your back, alright?” She gently pushed and rolled until she had him lying flat again and brushed a hand over his forehead. “Damn. Jody, could you grab my bag from the living room?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,” Fay let her leave and put her attention back on Sam. She started peeling back the bandages to look at the wounds under each and frowned when she got to the thick gauze taped over his stomach. She pressed careful fingers around the wound and frowned harder as fresh blood welled out and it felt swollen. “Sorry, Sam.” She whispered when he grunted in pain and pushed harder.

“The ghost is attached to something else. Could be a lock of friggin hair or a…” Dean swallowed his emotions back and shook his head. “…a flask even. Anything. We need to search his house.”

Fay shook her head and didn’t look up when Jody returned. “I don’t think you do.”

“Son of a bitch got in here past the salt lines!” Dean yelled and curled in on himself again, panting through the pain. “How… how in hell’s he do that?”

“Because what he’s attached to is already here,” Fay said softly and looked up to meet Dean’s eyes. “There’s something still inside him. I can feel it.” She shook her head sadly and peeled the bandage away from Sam’s stomach. “I missed it earlier, but I can feel it now around the swelling.”

“Wait. Wait.” Jody set the medical kit beside Fay on the bed and put a hand over her eyes. “Are you saying…”

“He fell in the grave.” Dean groaned and looked over at his brother. “Holy crap.”

“There’s a _piece_ of the dead guy inside him?” Jody asked incredulously and turned a bit green. “Ok. That’s kind of disgusting.”

“Probably got shoved in along with the wood when he landed on the coffin.” Fay pulled her bag over and started pulling out what she’d need. “I’ve got to open him up enough to get in there and get it and hope it hasn’t punctured anything important. Might want to have 911 on speed dial here.”

“Do you have anything else in this house that’s iron, Fay?” Jody asked and retrieved the iron rod Dean had thrown earlier. She handed it back to him. “I don’t think the dead guy’s just gonna sit back while you do this.”

“Get the salt and lighter fluid ready too.” Dean ordered and held out an arm. “And get over here and get me the hell up.”

“Dean…”

“Get me up.” Dean cut Jody off. “She’s gonna be diggin’ in his gut, and we got a pissed off ghost floating around. I’m gonna be on the damn bed with him. Do it.”

Jody shook her head fondly and took Dean’s arm. “Alright, stubborn pain in the ass.”

“There’s a collection of iron pokers in the hall closet,” Fay said and smiled, shrugging. “I’m having a fireplace put in next month.”

Jody groaned with the effort of getting Dean out of the chair and then helped him turn to sit on the side of the bed. She pushed until she had him sitting back against the wall next to Sam’s head. “You good there?”

“Yeah. Go. Hurry.” Dean put a hand on the side of his brother’s neck and looked down as Sam blinked blearily up at him. “You follow all this?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He grimaced and reached his right arm up, grateful when Dean grabbed hold and gave him something to hang on to. “Gotta get… piece of Jack out… out of me.” He turned a weak glare up to his brother. “Don’t you… don’t you tease me.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “No promises, Sammy. I’m only human.”

“Alright. Sam I need you to hold as still as you can.” Fay put a hand on the unwounded side of his chest and waited for his nod. “I’ll go as fast as I can.”

Jody returned with an iron fireplace poker in each hand and stood by the door, ready for the spirit if he came back while Fay worked. She set a can of lighter fluid and Fay’s salt shaker from the kitchen on the floor. “Really wish we could just shoot the bastard.”

Dean nodded, looking longingly at his sawed-off shotgun on the floor. He tore his gaze away and gave Fay a nod. “Do it.” He felt Sam tense with Fay’s hands on his stomach and put his other hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You could pass out again. Now would be a good time.”

“Wish… wish I would,” Sam gave a short, breathless laugh and flinched as Fay drizzled antiseptic over his stomach. “Shit, Fay. S’cold!”

Fay smiled. “I know. Just hang on now.”

Sam shamelessly squeezed his brother’s hand in his own with the first bite of the scalpel in his stomach. Even whatever topical anesthetic Fay had used couldn’t hide the pain, and he fought the urge to roll away from the thing hurting him. There was a strange sort of wheezing, whimper filling the room and it took Sam several minutes to realize that he was the one making it while one of Fay’s hands pressed hard into his hip to hold him still.

Jody watched and suffered for Sam while Fay cut into him. “Jesus,” she breathed and then tensed as the EMF in Dean’s bag began to whine again. “Here he comes.”

“Take it easy, Sammy,” Dean whispered down, but Sam was beyond hearing him at that point. He winced with the powerful grip Sam had on his hand and squeezed back just as hard to help anchor him. There was no way this whole scenario wouldn’t press a few buttons for Sam, and he didn’t want him flipping out while Fay had her hand inside him.

“Slippery little… dammit!” Fay felt carefully into the wound she’d made larger with her fingers and could feel the foreign object slipping as she nudged it. She took her hand out and grabbed the forceps. “Little longer.” She pushed them in, angling for where she’d felt it and clasped the tongs gently around it until she could pull it free. She hunched over Sam protectively when she felt a cold wind at her back and then Jody’s hand was there.

“Keep going.” Jody moved back again, having run the ghost through with the poker before he could fully materialize.

“Hang on, buddy,” Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder tighter when he cried out suddenly.

“Got it!” Fay pulled the offending object out of Sam’s stomach and stared in surprise. “It’s… it’s a finger bone. Jesus!”

“Give it here!” Jody took the bloody bone in her hand, swallowing hard against the need to throw up, and tossed it to the floor. She knelt and hurriedly dumped salt over top of it and then squirted it with lighter fluid. She was digging her lighter out of her pocket when the dead man reappeared with a roar. She spun the wheel on the lighter and put it to the bone, watching as the flames burst to life. The ghost of Jack Kreacher howled angrily and went up in flames beside her. She slumped in relief and leaned against the foot of the bed. “Sam?”

“He’s alright, I think.” Fay leaned up and put a hand to Sam’s neck. Somehow, the boy was still conscious, though heaving for air and collapsed against his brother’s hip. He was covered in a cold sweat and she could feel his pulse racing under her fingers. “Ok. One crisis averted. Now for the next. Jody, grab the ice in my freezer and, uh… ziplock baggies under the sink. We need to get this fever down.” She leaned back and wiped her bloody hands off on the sheet she knew she was going to be throwing away. “I need to clean this out and stitch it up.”

“Go on. He’s good,” Dean said calmly and felt Sam squeeze his hand in agreement though he didn’t open his eyes. Sitting through stitches was something they were far too used to. “Slow it down, Sam, before you hyperventilate and pass out.” His brother frowned slightly in irritation but did work at slowing his frantic breathing.

Fay quickly and efficiently put a small line of stitches in Sam’s stomach after cleaning the wound a last time. He was boneless in the bed by the time she was done and pulled a blanket up over his legs. “All done, Sam. You’re going to be fine.”

“Here.” Jody held out a bag filled with ice and a little water, watching while Fay set it on one side of Sam’s neck then handed her the other. “Hey, Dean. You wanna get your butt back in that chair?”

“No.” Dean shook his head and stayed right where he was. “Actually found a position where my ribs aren’t killin’ me.” He smiled at Jody. “I ain’t movin’.”

“Right. Ok, then.” Jody didn’t call him out on it, on the certain knowledge that Dean’s ribs were no doubt screaming at him and his refusal to move was solely to stay beside his brother. “I’ll just go start some coffee brewing.”

Fay pulled the blanket up a little higher over Sam and looked at them both. “You know, you boys never fail to make my life interesting.”

“Fay,” Dean sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry we landed on your doorstep tonight.”

Fay waved a hand and stood, packing up her medical kit. “Forget it. I’m glad it was me.” She smiled and set the bag on the dresser. “If it hadn’t been, you boys would have been in some dire straits.” She patted Sam’s leg under the blanket and then bent to drop a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “Rest. I’ll bring you some coffee in a bit if you behave.”

Dean grinned as she stepped out of the room and looked down at his brother again. Sam still had hold of his hand and Dean chuckled. “You gonna let go of me anytime soon, princess?”

“Bite… bite me, Dean,” Sam said in a hoarse whisper, but he did open his eyes briefly to look up and reassure his brother that he was alright. He closed them again and let out a long, shuddering breath. “Tired.”

“Get some sleep.” Dean patted his shoulder and leaned his own head back against the wall. His ribs were burning but he didn’t want to go back to the chair, not yet anyway. “We’re takin’ a week off after this, dude.”

“No… no argument,” Sam whispered and fell into sleep, vaguely aware that Dean was still holding onto his hand and smiled.

“Bitch,” Dean said softly, fondly and kept hold of his little brother, for however long he could.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	12. For manonairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For manonairs - My prompt is for pre season 4 (no angels) Sam who sustains a temporary loss of sight (perhaps a week or month), your choice how, but if Sam wakes up totally freaked (and temporarily alone), that would be awesome sauce. Cue lots of Sam being uber klutzy running into walls or tumbling down stairs, with an over protective Dean, but Sam somehow manages to save Dean from the monster of the week he (of course), took on solo, reinstating his BAMF status whilst being blind. Bobby and/or Jody cameos would be nice. Thanks :)
> 
> A/N: You got it! I set this one in season 2…. Oh, somewhere. Early on I suppose. Lol I hope this lives up to what you were hoping for! And yeah… this one got away from me a little too, like the last chapter. :D AND Thank you Xenascully for thinking of a way for blind!Sam to be a BAMF and save the day!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean looked over at his brother some twenty feet away as they neared the house where the witch was hiding. The closer they moved with no sign that she’d noticed their presence, the more nervous he became and his ingrained need to protect his brother started to nag at him. He didn’t like that they were so far apart. Dean shook his head and caught Sam’s eyes when his brother glanced over at him. He nodded to the front door and Sam tapped his own chest and pointed to the back. Dean grimaced and gave him a nod against his better judgment. He knew Sam was no longer a kid and a great hunter in his own right, but it still made him twitchy when they were separated and he couldn’t watch his brother’s back. He watched Sam step over something at the back of the house. He took a step toward him but Sam looked up and gave him a shake of his head to say it was nothing; maybe just a log or something, he hoped.

“Dammit,” Dean whispered and rolled the tension out of his shoulders. He moved to the front of the house and let Sam vanish from his sight. He moved silently along the house and to the porch steps. Dean bent and took a good look at them, checking for any obvious sign they were trapped before he stepped up and moved toward the door. There was no way she didn’t know they were coming. They’d run into her earlier in the night and chased her off her last victim before she could cut the poor guy’s heart out. She knew her time was up, so why in hell wasn’t she hitting at them already? Dean reached a hand out for the knob on the front door. He gave it a turn and scowled, finding it unlocked. He liked this less and less as the seconds went by, but he was committed now. He had to go in because Sam would already be at the back. Dean turned the knob further and froze. He jerked his head around when he heard a rustling sound behind him in the woods. Dean narrowed his eyes and then gasped as a blinding flash of light erupted behind him from within the house. He slammed his eyes closed and went to his knees, covering his head as it lit up the night behind his eyes. A moment later, it died away and Dean blinked the spots out of his vision.

“Holy crap!” Dean rose and looked back at the house. It was dark again and the front door stood open. He leveled his gun in front of him in both hands and walked inside, figuring their stealthy advance was shot to hell now.

“Dean!”

Sam’s voice came from the other side of the house and Dean heard nothing but panic in it. “Sammy?” Dean moved quickly through the house, alert for any sign of the witch, but he didn’t see her anywhere. “Sam!” He moved through a living room and into a hall and heard his brother call for him again. “You see her?” Sam didn’t answer him, and Dean’s fear went up another notch.

Dean moved down the hall and finally heard Sam’s heavy breathing through the door on his left. “Sam. Talk to me.”

“She… she was in here before. I think…” Sam’s voice trailed off on a hitch of emotion. “She looked dead.”

“Well, make sure, dammit!” Dean reached the door and turned into the kitchen. He stopped and stared, finding the witch lying on the floor across from him and looking very dead and his little brother kneeling just inside the back door with his face in his hands. “Shit! She tag you? Sam?” He dropped to his knees next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, look at me.”

“I…” Sam lowered his hands and raised his head and swallowed hard. “I can’t.”

“Huh?” Dean watched his brother’s head turn toward him and couldn’t understand why he sounded so… crushed. “Sammy, talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

“There was a light.” Sam shook his head and blinked furiously. “Soon as I opened the door, and, uh, it was so bright and I can’t… Dean.” Sam slapped a hand out, colliding with his brother and grabbed a fistful of his jacket. “Dean, I can’t see.”

The last came out as a horrified whisper and Dean’s jaw dropped open in shock. Dean took hold of Sam’s jaw and turned his face toward him so he could look into Sam’s blue-green eyes. They looked perfectly normal to him, if maybe a little glassy. “When you say you can’t see…”

“Black. It’s just black. Everything’s black!” Sam’s voice rose quickly with panic and he tried to pull it back. He was a hunter and he knew injuries were part of the job description, something to be dealt with, not panicked over. Hell, he’d been badly hurt in such a variety of ways over the years growing up he couldn’t even remember them all, but this was different. He’d be less scared if he was laying in the middle of the woods somewhere gushing blood, because that could be fixed. Dean could fix it. But this…he could feel the fear threatening to overwhelm him again and he tightened his grip on his brother’s jacket.

“Ok. Ok, take it easy.” Dean dropped his hand to the side of his brother’s neck and put his gun up. “Let’s get you outta here and we’ll figure this out. You’re gonna be fine.”

Sam nodded, but wasn’t sure he believed him. He let Dean pull him to his feet and kept blinking, hoping that his vision would come back… that anything would come back, even a flash of light. Something. “Dean.”

“Deep breaths, Sam. Slow it down.” Dean could hear his brother’s panicked breaths and wasn’t sure Sam was even aware of it. “Ok, come on. Here we go.” He took hold of Sam’s arms and guided him out the back door, leading him carefully down the steps on the back porch and into the grass. “You see anything yet?” Dean remembered the light and how it had nearly blinded him while he was turned away from it with his eyes closed. That Sam had received the full blast in the face scared him on a visceral level.

Sam shook his head and swallowed around the lump of emotion in his throat. “It’s… it’ll go away, right? I mean it will. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, Sammy. You will,” Dean said it like a promise and meant to do everything in his power to make sure of it. “We’re gonna go back to the motel. I’m gonna call Bobby and we’re gonna figure this out. I promise.”

“Ok,” Sam said softly. He let his head drop as they walked, trusting Dean to keep him from walking into a tree and put a hand over his eyes. “Head hurts.”

“Not surprised. Pick your feet up a little higher,” Dean coached and moved them through the woods back to the Impala. Sam walked like he was in a daze and Dean couldn’t help but wonder how he’d handle it himself if his vision suddenly went dark. He shivered and watched where they walked a little more carefully. “Ok, we’re here. Hang on.”

Sam heard the Impala’s door open and let Dean push him down with a hand on top of his head to keep him from banging into the frame of the car. The familiar smell of the car helped settle his panic a little but not enough to stop the fear bouncing in his gut. He was in danger of throwing up if he couldn’t get a handle on it soon. The complete darkness though he knew his eyes were open was incredibly disorienting, and Sam felt like he didn’t even know which way was up anymore. The door creaked closed beside him and Sam held his breath in the sudden silence, waiting in the dark until finally he heard the driver’s side door open and Dean’s presence slid in beside him.

“Take a breath already, dude,” Dean said watched Sam heave one out and draw in another. “We’re gonna fix this.” He made himself believe that as he turned on the car and started driving but some small part of him couldn’t quite trust what he was saying. The drive back to the motel felt longer than the drive out had. He was just turning into the parking lot when Sam finally spoke.

“Would you say something please?” Sam turned his head to his left, wishing he could see Dean even for a second. “It’s too quiet.”

“We’re back at the motel.” Dean drove to their room and parked in front of it as he turned the engine off.

Sam flinched in the sudden silence and then jumped when Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna get out and come around the car, alright?” Dean opened his door and took his hand away from his brother. “Ten seconds.”

Sam nodded and felt along his own door for the handle. A lifetime of practice made it easy, and he gripped the metal, pushed his door open, and put out a leg. He pulled himself out of the seat and stood and then hung his head because he couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t even walk to the motel room on his own and it terrified him.

“Here I am, buddy.” Dean took Sam’s arm and pulled him away from the car. He shoved the door closed and led him to the motel. “Step up,” he warned before Sam could trip on the small step to the sidewalk. Dean opened the door and steered Sam inside and toward the little table. “Ok, here you go. Chair right in front of you.”

Sam reached out and felt in front of him. His knuckles bumped the back of the chair and he grabbed hold until he steadied and turned, lowering himself down. He wobbled a little, almost missing the seat and blew out an annoyed breath. “This sucks, Dean.”

“I know. I’m gonna grab our gear and call Bobby.” Dean patted his brother’s shoulder and headed back out to the car while he took his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Bobby and opened the trunk.

Sam held his hands up. He could feel himself wiggling his fingers and feel his breath puffing back to him as he put his hand in front of his face, but there was nothing, only the darkness. “God,” he whispered and dropped his hands to his lap. He tried to picture the motel room in his head as he heard Dean’s voice outside and stood shakily from the chair.

“Bobby, I dunno what the hell happened.” Dean leaned against the door of the Impala and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “There was this flash of light. Sam thinks she was already dead when he came in the back door, but that’s the last thing he saw before he… Bobby, he’s blind.” He pulled the phone away from his ear when Bobby shouted in surprise. “That light was like lookin’ at the damn sun or something, Bobby, and…I don’t know. I had my back to the house when it happened, but Sam… man, he was lookin’ right at it.”

“He got any vision?” Bobby sat back in his chair with a thump and looked around his cluttered library. “Anything at all?”

“No.” Dean looked into the open door to their room and frowned. “And the idiot’s tryin’ to walk around on his own right now. Bobby… I need help.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Bobby told him surely. “Son, just… you keep an eye on him. We’ll fix this.”

Dean snapped his phone closed, grabbed up the bags and walked into the room to find his brother standing there in the middle of the room looking lost. “Sam? What’cha doin’?”

Sam huffed out an irritated breath and threw his arms up. “I need to take a piss and I can’t find the damn bathroom!” It came out more of a yell than he meant it to and he dropped his head. “Sorry.”

“Ok, calm down.” Dean tossed the bags on the nearest bed and then took Sam’s arm. He led him into the bathroom and turned him to face the toilet. “Right in front of you. You, uh… you need, you know… help or anything?”

“Oh, my God don’t make this worse,” Sam groaned and pushed Dean away from him. “Close the door.”

Dean chuckled and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. “Just give a yell when you’re done!” He stood for a moment and looked around the room and tried to calm his own hammering nerves. “Shit.” He kicked the end of one of the beds and blew out a breath. He turned back to the bathroom when he heard a curse and then the toilet flushed and he smiled. “That’s one thing you don’t need your eyes to find, huh, Sammy?” His grin when his brother banged the door open faltered with the knowledge that Sam couldn’t see it, in spite of the bitch-face he was shooting in his older brother’s direction.

“Nice, Dean.” Sam put a hand out and took a step forward.

Dean put a smile back on, because one of them had to try and remain calm about it, and took Sam’s arm. “Oh, relax, Mr. Magoo. You’re gonna be fine. Bed. Sit.” He gave Sam a gentle push until his brother dropped and sat on the side of the far bed.

“What did Bobby say?” Sam realized he was blinking furiously and made himself close his eyes.

“He’s comin’ out. He’ll be here tomorrow and we’re gonna figure this out, Sam. You know that, right?” Dean knelt in front of his brother and looked at his closed eyes. “This ain’t gonna last forever.”

“What if it does?” Sam asked softly and resisted the urge to reach out and grab hold of Dean just to have something solid to hold onto. “What if… what if this is how I’m gonna be now? What then?” He took a deep breath and could hear Dean’s harsh breathing in front of him. “I can’t… I can’t hunt like this, Dean. I can’t back you up.”

“Shut up.” Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders and gave him a shake. “This WILL get better, Sammy. Whatever it takes, we’ll fix this. We may not even have to do anything. I’ve heard of people being temporarily blinded by bright flashes right in their face and it goes away.” Sam looked at him doubtfully, and Dean took a deep breath. “And if we…” He ducked his head and swallowed before looking at him again. “If we can’t, then we’ll figure something else out. I ain’t leavin’ you behind, little brother. You hold onto that, alright?”

Sam took a shaky breath and nodded. He swallowed back the tears that were threatening and managed a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Dean patted Sam’s knee and stood, and the moment he did, his stomach growled.

Sam gave a surprised laugh and shook his head. “You better go get food.”

“Naw, I’m good,” Dean easily brushed it off, not wanting to leave Sam alone.

“Dude. I’m hungry too, alright?” Sam pushed back on the bed until he was leaning against the wall and tried to look calm. “Just turn the tv on to give me something to listen to and you go grab food. I’ll be fine on my own for a little while.”

Dean stared at his brother and it was clear that Sam was afraid of being alone and afraid of admitting it. He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, alright. Twenty minutes.” He grabbed the remote off the table and flicked the tv on. “Here.” He grabbed Sam’s hand and put the remote in it. “Don’t trip over shit while I’m gone.”

“God, you’re such a jerk,” Sam groaned.

Dean smiled and made himself walk to the door. “Bitch,” he retorted quickly and left, making sure Sam heard the door close, and then he leaned against it for a moment while Sam’s words spun through his head. What if Sam was right and this was how it was going to be? What if he couldn’t fix this for his little brother? Dean shook his head angrily and went to the car. He was not going to let this happen to Sam.

Dean was true to his word and only gone twenty minutes. He pulled up in front of the motel room and climbed out with the bag of food. He went to the door and keyed it open and stopped as he saw Sam hunched over a chair and holding his knee. Dean opened his mouth to say something and then froze as Sam’s breathing hitched and tears started rolling down his face. It took him only a moment to shake off the paralysis and then he was moving. “Sam.” He banged the door shut behind him and saw Sam flinch, but he didn’t stop crying, didn’t seem to be able to as his breathing became more labored.

“Ok. Ok. Hey. Come on.” Dean set the bag on the table, grabbed his brother’s arms, and pushed him carefully into the chair. “This ain’t the end of the world, Sam.”

“Screw you! I’m fuckin’ helpless like this. Can’t even walk across a freakin’ hotel room by myself.” Sam said angrily and instantly regretted the words. He scrubbed his hands over his face in a bid for self-control. “Dean, I…”

“I know, alright? Forget it.” Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and left his hand there so he would know he wasn’t alone. “Pretty sure I’d be chewing your head off by now if it was me.”

Sam gave a watery laugh and nodded. “Blood on the walls, yeah.”

“Alright, shuddup.” Dean smiled and patted his shoulder again before he sat down across from him. “Still hungry? Never mind. You’re gonna eat anyway.”

Sam composed himself and smiled, listening to Dean open a bag. He sniffed deeply and rolled his eyes. “Why do I smell burgers and onions?”

Dean snorted. “’Cause they’re awesome and I’m hungry. Here.”

Sam held out his hand and frowned as he felt the long, narrow foil package in his hand. “That’s… not burger shaped.”

“Ooh, puttin’ that college education to use, Sammy,” Dean grinned. “It’s a rabbit food wrap or salad wrap or something.” He chuckled at the surprise on Sam’s face. “Shuddup and eat already.”

Sam sniffed, dangerously close to another loss of control with the gesture but held it in check and smiled. “Thanks.” It touched him that Dean had gotten him something that didn’t involve trying to use silverware blind. They ate quietly for a while to the sound of crinkling wrappers and Dean’s foot occasionally bumping one of his own, like he was reminding Sam where he was. Sam balled up his now empty wrapper and put his hands in his lap with a frown. “Maybe we should, I dunno, go to a hospital? Maybe there’s something they can do.”

“Sammy.” Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Whatever the hell happened in that house, it wasn’t natural. That was a spell. My money’s on some other magical crap bein’ what gets you your sight back.”

Sam nodded and gave a small smile. “Alright.”

“We’ll fix this,” Dean said firmly, as much for himself as for Sam and hoped he wasn’t lying.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam sat on his bed, listening to Bobby and Dean talk and felt a little more adrift with every passing moment as they seemed to forget that he was in the room or that being blind did not mean his mind was impaired.

“Forget it,” Sam said quickly and could picture both their heads jerking in surprise to look at him. “You’re not leaving me here.”

“Sam.” Dean waved Bobby off and went to sit on the other bed across from his brother. “We gotta go search that bitch’s house, and you are not comin’ back in there!”

“Damage is already done, Dean.” Sam wished so badly to see his brother’s face… to see anything. The sinking feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone away overnight. It had worsened with every hour that went by and nothing changed. He needed to have control over something, anything, and he’d take it where he could get it. “I’ll stay in the car if you really want me to, Dean, but I am not staying here alone.”

“There could be more traps like the one that…” Bobby blew out a breath and watched Sam’s expressive face. There was no way the boy had any idea just how much fear he was showing right then, but Bobby could see it clearly; Sam was terrified, and if Bobby was honest with himself… so was he. “It’s just not safe for you, Sam. You should stay here.”

Sam shook his head. “No. I can’t… I don’t want to be alone, alright?” It hurt a little to admit that, but he was out of options. “I mean it. I’m coming. I’ll stay in the car. Hell, you can handcuff me to the trunk if it’ll make you feel better, but I need to do this!”

“Alright, Sammy. Alright.” Dean patted Sam’s knee and gave his brother a moment to calm down. He’d come close to yelling that last, and Dean understood the panic Sam had to be feeling. “But your ass is not leavin’ the car. We clear?”

“Clear,” Sam agreed and stood. He was ready to go and get it over with. He needed there to be a way to fix his sight, and he wanted to be there if they found it.

The drive back out to the witch’s house was surreal for Sam, unable to see anything and having to listen to the engine, Dean speaking, the radio on low, and even the sound of the tires on the asphalt as they drove, then the way the sound changed when they moved onto the dirt road leading into the forest. Through all of it, Dean kept up a constant chatter, just filling the car with the sound of his voice to keep Sam grounded. He turned his head toward the driver’s seat when they stopped and raised a brow.

“Yeah, we’re here.” Dean looked past his brother to the witch’s house and shook his head. It didn’t look any more inviting during the day than it had the night before. “I mean it, dude. In the car. We find anything and we need you, one of us’ll come get you.”

“I know.” Sam sighed and leaned back in the seat. “Where exactly am I gonna go, Dean?”

“Uh huh. Stay in the car, Sammy.” Dean knew he was being a bit of an ass, but if anyone was going to be stubborn enough to walk out blind somewhere, it was his little brother. “I need to cuff you to the door?”

Sam snorted and slapped his arm out toward the driver’s seat, grinning when he hit Dean and heard his brother grunt. “I don’t need to see to pick that lock, you idiot.” Growing up, John had insisted they practice that particular skill in dark basements or blindfolded until it was second nature to them both.

Dean rubbed his chest and smiled as he opened his door. “Just checking. We’ll be back.”

Sam listened to him leave and heard Bobby’s voice outside the car. It killed him to just sit there tamely while they walked into potential danger. He knew that he’d seen the witch’s body before the light had flashed, and Dean had said she was dead as well, but Sam couldn’t help the crawling feeling at the back of his skull that said something bad was going to happen. He rolled his window down and listened to his brother and Bobby’s voices fading as they approached the house and left him behind alone.

“This sucks,” Sam muttered to himself and kept his head tilted toward the window as their voices stopped. All that was left was the sound of the Impala’s cooling engine, the breeze that knocked the boughs of the trees gently together, and the twittering of birds nearby. He blew out a breath and tried to relax; tried not to feel so cut adrift. Sam debated calling Dean on his cell and mentally kicked himself for that. The last thing Dean and Bobby needed was an untimely distraction inside the dead witch’s house.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he sat there listening to the forest sounds. Telling time when you couldn’t do a simple thing like see your watch was surprisingly difficult. He shifted in his seat and starting counting seconds in his head. He was just nearing two minutes when he realized that the only sound still outside the car was the wind; the birds had stopped.

“No.” Sam’s sense of ‘wrong’ vibrated up his spine and he fumbled for the handle, finding it and shoving his door open. “Dean?” He stood there holding on to the car and couldn’t decide what to do. He considered his phone again, but if there were trouble, Dean wouldn’t answer it and put Sam at risk. Sam spun and ducked back into the car. He climbed over the bench seat and felt along the dash as he banged his head on the steering wheel. A lifetime of practice allowed him to find the release for the trunk and he pulled it.

Sam scrambled back out and followed the smooth, metal contours of the Impala’s body back to the trunk. He shoved it up and closed his eyes, though he didn’t need to as he pictured the trunk and opened the hidden panel. He easily found the sawed-off shotgun and propped it into place out of habit. Sam let his memory make the moves for him as his fingers travelled over the ordered mess Dean kept the trunk in until his hand closed around the handle of his Taurus. He grabbed it up, knocked the shotgun down, and let the trunk thud closed as he turned to his right toward where he knew the house to be.

“Ok. I can… I can do this,” Sam whispered and started walking. It felt a bit like walking on dry land after being at sea for days. The uneven ground seemed to roll beneath his feet as he moved and more than once threatened to take him down. It was unnerving to not even be sure if he was headed in the right direction, and twice he almost stopped and turned back, thinking he was overreacting when a gunshot echoed from ahead of him and to his left.

“Dean,” Sam forced himself to whisper rather than shout it out. He didn’t want whoever, or whatever, was inside the house to know he was there. He turned slightly to follow the sound while his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Sam kept his left arm straightened in front of him, and felt a small measure of relief when he bumped the side of the house. He used the wall as a guide and followed it around until he found the porch.

Sam remembered there being a window to the right of the front door, and he ducked low, walking in an unsteady crouch over the bottom of the porch steps until he reached the other side. He eased up onto the porch and felt carefully for the front door. He swallowed hard around the lump of fear and doubt in his throat. He couldn’t afford it. His brother and Bobby were in trouble, he was sure of it; could feel it like a bell ringing in his head.

He found the edge of the door and pushed, unsurprised when it opened quietly. Dean must not have closed it all the way when they’d entered the house. Sam stepped inside and listened so hard his ears were ringing, but now he was truly out of his depth. He’d never seen more of the house than the kitchen at the back. Sam remembered walking from the kitchen to the front door with Dean guiding his steps and tried to use that now. He moved slightly to his right when he heard nothing and kept his left hand out in front of him until he found a wall. He followed slowly along, listening for any sound or sign, knowing that something deadly could be lurking silently five feet away from him waiting to attack and he wouldn’t even know.

Sam jerked to a stop when his right foot scuffed into something on the floor. He sucked in a terrified breath and shook his head. Sam knelt carefully and reached his hand out, then drew it back with a soft gasp when he felt an arm. “Shit,” Sam said softly and reached out again. The arm hadn’t moved, and he followed up the shirt clad arm to the shoulder and then the head, and Sam’s own head swam with fear when he felt the beard. “Bobby.” Sam dropped to his knees and got both hands on the older Hunter.

“Bobby?” Sam asked more loudly and felt around his throat until he felt a pulse beating beneath his fingers. He dropped his head to Bobby’s chest as he went weak with relief and sucked in a shaky breath. Sam lifted his head back up and gave Bobby’s shoulder a shake. “Bobby, wake up. Please, wake up.” He shook him harder but there was no response. Whatever had happened, Bobby was down for the count. Sam swallowed, patted the older man’s shoulder and made himself get back to his feet. His brother was still in there somewhere.

He moved as carefully as he could around Bobby, using the toes of his shoes to gently nudge against him so he didn’t step on him. Sam stopped and braced his free hand on the wall when he heard the sound of a voice. It was a woman’s voice, muffled, and seemed to be coming from his right. He moved and followed slowly along the wall until his seeking fingers brushed another door. Sam eased it open soundlessly and heard her voice again, realizing that it was echoing up to him. Stairs. Sam closed his eyes and tried to convince himself he could do this.

Sam eased one foot through the door and felt for the first tread of the stairs. He felt it with his toe and eased down onto it. He took another step and then another, cringing with each soft creak of wood beneath his feet. The woman’s voice was still speaking. She sounded angry, and Sam knew she was talking to his brother, though he couldn’t make out the words. He went down two more steps and couldn’t stop the gasp as pain suddenly lanced into his skull. He wrapped both hands around his head, feeling the cool metal of his gun pressing into his temple and was swept away into a vision.

_Sam was sitting. He stared down into his lap at his jeans and coughed hard. It felt like something had tried to strangle him, he was so familiar with that sensation. He moved his eyes slightly and realized that he wasn’t looking at his own feet. Whoever it was wore boots. His eyes dropped again, and Sam’s stomach turned as a small, golden amulet swung into his line of sight with his movement and he blinked furiously. He was seeing through his brother’s eyes, through Dean._

_“You shouldn’t have come back. Stupid boy.”_

_Dean looked up slowly at the witch and Sam could feel his brother kicking himself for being caught out._

_“You didn’t even check my body before you left here with that other one.” The witch laughed. “Lucky you, not being blinded by my spell or I’d have had you both then.”_

_“Yeah,” Dean said and coughed again as he tried to pull his hands free from the cord binding them at his back. “I’m feelin’ real lucky right now, bitch.”_

_Sam could feel the bone-deep terror at the back of his brother’s mind. It was for him. Dean was suffering with the knowledge that sooner or later, Sam was going to come looking for him and get caught, helpless as he was. He tried to somehow tell Dean that he was there, that he wasn’t helpless, but he didn’t know how._

_“You should have left well enough alone.” The witch moved closer to him and held out a small blade. “I’m going to add your heart to my collection, and when I’m done, I’m going to go upstairs and get that other fool’s as well. You’re going to…”_

_Dean jerked his head up at the sound of a gasp from the stairs and stared in shock and horror as there was a sudden commotion and his little brother came tumbling down the stairs to land on his back in the cellar. Sam stared at himself on the floor and was horrified. This was what was going to happen to him when he came out of the vision. He was going to fall. He felt the vision beginning to wane and Sam stared hard at himself. He saw the gun beside his left hand, Dean directly across from him, and the witch standing a few feet away to his left. He desperately tried to commit it all to memory, and then the vision was leaving. Blackness swirled in on him and took away his sight once more._

Sam groaned out a shocked breath through the pain. He tried to not go down another step, but momentum carried him forward. He gasped as he felt his foot miss the step and then the world was turned upside down as he tumbled and rolled. The stairs banged and slammed into his body, and the air punched out of him as he landed on his back on the rough, earthen floor.

“Sammy!” Dean stared in shock at his little brother and, for a moment, wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead, and then Sam wheezed in a long breath before bursting into a gasping cough. “Holy crap,” he breathed in relief, but it was short-lived as the witch began to chuckle.

“Oh, my. You brought the blinded Hunter back to my house?” She turned to look at Dean with a grin. “What a little idiot you are.”

“You stay the hell away from him, you bitch!” Dean strained against his bonds as she turned to look at his brother.

Sam heard it all as he relearned how to breathe and then remembered what he’d seen. It didn’t matter that the pain of the vision was still slamming through his skull; if he didn’t act, they were all dead. He slid his left hand out and felt the grip of his gun. Sam wrapped his hand around and, trying to remember exactly where she had been, he swung it up into his right hand, aimed and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening and filled the little cellar. Sam heard something heavy hit the floor and he cocked the gun, ready to fire again if he had to.

“Sam, you got her! Holy shit, Sammy!” Dean stared in awe at the witch, now truly dead as Sam’s bullet had taken her in the chest. He struggled with the cord around his wrists and looked back at his brother. “You ok to move? Can you get over here?”

Sam let the gun lower and dropped his head back to the floor for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I can… I’m comin’.” He rolled his side with a loud groan as newly bruised and aching muscles protested while his head swam. He got to his hands and knees and crawled toward where he knew his brother was.

“That’s it. Right here, buddy. You’re doin’ great.” Dean couldn’t believe Sam had made that shot. “Your sight come back?”

Sam shook his head when he found Dean’s legs under his hand and moved up until he found his brother’s chest. He fumbled to reach behind him and felt the cord wrapped tight above his hands. “Hang on.” It took some work to untie the knots without being able to see them, but he managed and finally had Dean free.

Dean lurched forward and grabbed his brother, wrapping him in a tight hug for a moment. “Scared the hell outta me, Sammy. Jesus.” He pushed him back to look at him and took a hard breath. “Bobby, he’s, uh… she got him, I think.”

Sam smiled and shook his head. “He’s upstairs in the hall. He’s alive, but I couldn’t wake him up.”

Dean’s entire body sagged in relief and he made himself move. “Ok. Sit tight while I make sure the wicked witch really is dead this time.”

Sam nodded and eased to sit on the floor. He listened to his brother moving and let his head fall forward. He’d hoped that with her death, his sight would return. Now that it hadn’t, Sam began to realize that he might spend the rest of his life like this and it terrified him.

Dean kicked the witch’s hip and then knelt. He pressed his fingers into her neck and smiled. There was no pulse and her sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling. “Good riddance,” he said softly and turned back to his little brother. “Hey.” Dean went to him where Sam sat, cradling his head in his hands and looking miserable. “You alright? That was a hell of a fall. And a hell of a shot. How the hell did you pull that off? Very Jedi , dude!”

“Vision.” Sam brought his head back up slowly and shrugged. “I, uh… I saw through your eyes for just a minute. Enough to see where she was and where my gun was after I fell.” He gave a watery laugh as his eyes filled. “Kinda wish I could have avoided that part.”

“Ok. Come on.” Dean wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and slowly pulled him to his feet. Sam swayed and Dean pulled one of his arms over his shoulders. “We’re gonna go up and find Bobby, and then I’m torchin’ this whole damn house.”

“Sounds… sounds like a plan.” Sam’s voice hitched and he fought the urge to cry.

“It’ll be alright, Sam.” Dean pulled him to the stairs and then started them up. He moved slowly and let Sam find the next step with his toe each time before they took it. All the while, Sam’s shoulders shuddered beneath his arm and he knew his little brother was trying to accept the fact that his vision wasn’t coming back. “Almost there.” They reached the top, and Dean pulled Sam up the last step and out into the hall. He looked to his left and saw Bobby lying there on his back, unconscious but clearly alive as his chest rose and fell, and another little piece of his world fell back into place. “Gettin’ him outta here’s gonna be fun if he doesn’t wake up. Stay here for a sec.”

Sam put a hand out to the wall, using it to keep himself up straight while his head continued to throb with pain from the vision. It seemed to become worse as he listened to Dean moving and he slammed his eyes closed on a low moan. “Crap,” he whispered and felt nausea begin to churn in his stomach. The pain roared back to life, and for a moment, Sam thought he was being subjected to yet another vision. Weakness blew through him and took his legs out from under him as he went to his knees. He heard Dean call his name fearfully and Sam opened his eyes. He looked up… and saw his brother running toward him and sliding to his knees in front of him to grab his shoulders. Sam’s breath clogged in his chest as tears began to course down his cheeks.

“Sam? Shit, this still from the vision?” Dean palmed the side of his brother’s face and looked at his eyes. It took him a second to see through the tears that were suddenly rolling down Sam’s face, but his little brother’s eyes… were looking directly into his. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded and collapsed forward into his brother as relief seemed to sap the strength from his limbs. He looked over Dean’s shoulder at Bobby and the tears came harder as all the fear and hopelessness he’d been trying valiantly to keep in check for the past day was suddenly released.

“Ok, take it easy.” Dean rubbed Sam’s back, trying to comfort him while he sobbed and didn’t begrudge him a single tear. He didn’t even want to imagine what it would have felt like if it had been him. “Breathe, Sammy. Come on.” Sam’s shoulders were hitching under his arms with emotion.

Sam ducked his face into Dean’s shoulder and focused on regaining control of his breathing. He swallowed a few times and finally pulled back as he wiped at his face and tried not to feel humiliated for falling apart like that. “Sorry.”

“No apologies for this, dude. Holy crap.” Dean looked at him, met Sam’s eyes and smiled. “Free pass for chick flicks the rest of the day, man. Seriously.”

“F’you two are done… huggin’ it out… someone wan’get me off’a damn floor?”

Bobby’s slurred voice startled both brothers and they chuckled as they turned to look at the older Hunter. Sam rose and went to him, kneeling beside him and looked at Bobby’s eyes. “Sorry, Bobby.”

“Couple’a idjits leavin’ me here while…” Bobby’s voice trailed off as it hit him that Sam was looking AT him. His mouth fell open and then a grin split his face. He lurched up off the floor, ignoring his splitting head and grabbed Sam in a gruff hug for just a moment. He coughed sheepishly and let Sam go. “S’good to be seen by you, son.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Good to see anything, Bobby.”

“Can we move this chick flick outside so I can torch this place now?” Dean moved to Bobby’s other side and grabbed the hand he held out. “Sam did a half-gainer down the stairs so he’s gonna be cuddlin’ the ice packs all day.”

Bobby let Dean pull him to his feet where he swayed dizzily for a moment and slapped a hand to the back of his head. “Bitch cracked me over the back of the damn head.” He looked at Dean. “Tell me she’s dead.”

Dean nodded and aimed a thumb at his brother. “Sam took her out.” He pulled his brother along as they headed for the front door and the cars. “Blind.”

“What?” Bobby turned to look at Sam and shook his head. “Horsecrap.” He groaned and waved a hand while he clapped the other one over his pounding skull. “Tell me later when I can listen without pukin’.”

A while later, Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala and watched the witch’s house burst into roaring flames as his brother and Bobby walked back toward him. He thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** hotshow


	13. For hotshow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For hotshow - In the episode "Slumber Party" (9th season), we saw that the witch had trashed the kitchen in the Men of Letters Bunker. The witch has been killed and Dorothy and Charlie have left, so Dean decides to clean the kitchen and Sam wants to help. Something happens, and Sam gets hurt while he is helping Dean clean the kitchen, and Dean has to not only look after Sam's injury but Sam as well. I don't want Sam's injury to be so bad that Ezekiel has to help heal him, but I also don't want the injury to be minor (i.e. not a Band-Aid cure). If possible, I don't want this to be a humor story, but a hurt/comfort story.
> 
> A/N: Alrighty! A little Winchester fluff, comfort and care post 9x04 “Slumber Party” might throw in some angst while I’m at it. Sam’s whispering at me so… I’m a sucker for the puppy dog eyes. Lol

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam followed the sounds of cursing, bangs, and clatters down the hall and turned to look into the kitchen. “Whoa.” He smirked when Dean popped up from the floor with a disgusted look on his face.

“Wanna gank that bitch all over again just for trashing my kitchen,” Dean snarled and waved his hand around the disaster. Smashed dishes littered the counters and floor. Cabinet doors had been knocked off the hinges, and even some of the shelves were broken and hanging lopsided while cans and boxes of cereal and other things were spread across every surface.

Sam smirked. “Sort of looks like an angry twelve year old had a tantrum in here.” He brushed his fingers through a layer of flour coating the wall and chuckled. “With a sledge hammer.”

“Funny.” Dean glared at his little brother. “How about you can the humor and help me clean this mess if you ever want a meal around here again.”

“Alright. Take it easy.” Sam chuckled and looked around. “What do you want me to do?”

Dean relented and smiled now that he had help restoring the kitchen; his kitchen, he thought to himself, and it was, his kitchen in their home, and it pissed him off that it had been violated. He grabbed a small bucket from the floor next to him, tossed it to his brother and waved at the smashed cabinet doors. “You can start by gettin’ all the broken crap out of there.” He picked up his dustpan and broom again. “It’s like she was tryin’ to nail all the dishes on purpose.”

“Geez.” Sam pulled a broken door off its last hinge and whistled. Every plate and bowl in the cabinet had been smashed to pieces. “So, paper plates for a while, huh?”

Dean snorted and knelt, working to corral a mess of uncooked rice and sugar that had been spread together across half the floor. He glanced up at his brother as he heard the tinkle of broken cookware. “You check on Crowley?”

Sam nodded and scooped another pile of jagged ceramic pieces into the bucket. “He said thanks for the conjugal visit, but next time can you send him someone…” Sam rolled his eyes. “…send him someone with a tongue he can actually use.”

Dean couldn’t stop the snicker. King of Hell he may be, but the bastard had a sense of humor Dean could sometimes appreciate. “That guy is such a douche.” He shook his head and shifted aside when Sam gave him a nudge and moved next to him to start on the next cabinet. “Geez, do we have any dishes left?”

Sam chuckled and pulled a mug out with one hand. He held it down to his brother. “We’ll have to share for coffee.” He laughed when Dean grabbed the mug with an irritated growl and turned back to the cabinet. “Might be another one in here.”

“I hate witches, man,” Dean grumbled and brushed more rice, flour, and broken dishes into his pan. He nudged his brother’s foot. “Lift. Think you’re standin’ on what’s left of a salad plate.” He smirked when Sam moved his foot and kicked it back at him. “Smartass.”

Sam yelped in pain and dragged his right arm out of the cabinet as he staggered back a step. “Crap!”

“What? What happened?” Dean lurched to his feet and grabbed hold of his brother’s arm. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw blood beginning to drip to the floor, mixing with the floor and rice into a lumpy red paste. “How the hell…”

“Knives,” Sam said and gritted his teeth as he gave a nod to the cabinet. “There are a couple of damn knives hiding in there. Crap, that hurts.”

“Ok, come on. Le’me look at it.” Dean grabbed what appeared to be clean dishtowel from a drawer hanging half-open and, pressing it over the rapidly growing bloodstain on Sam’s shirt, and pulled on his arm to get him out of the kitchen disaster.

“I can handle it. It’s just a cut,” Sam protested and rolled his eyes when he was ignored. “Dean.”

“Sam.” Dean continued to push him down the hall and gave him a nudge toward the nearest chair in the library. “Sit already while I grab the kit. Keep pressure on that.”

Sam dropped into a chair and cradled his arm to him. It hurt like hell and once Dean was out of sight back down the hall, Sam curled over to rest his head on the table for just a second while the pain seemed to lance up into his shoulder. He jerked when a hand dropped on his shoulder and pulled his head up, surprised to find Dean kneeling beside him. “Dean?”

“Ok, change of plan. Bed. You need to be horizontal.” Dean pushed Sam gently back and didn’t like that blood had already soaked, the dishtowel, the sleeve of Sam’s flannel, and had left a wide, red stain on his jeans. He pulled his brother’s left arm over his shoulders and dragged him out of the chair. “You’re losin’ a little too much blood a little too fast here, buddy.”

Sam nodded dizzily while Dean grabbed the first aid kit that had somehow appeared on the table. He let his brother guide his sluggish steps down the hall to his room and couldn’t protest when Dean took a firmer hold and helped him to sit on his bed.

“Easy. Ok. Down you go.” Dean lowered Sam’s head and shoulders to his pillow and helped him get his legs up on the bed. He hooked the chair at his brother’s desk over with a foot and sat.

“Only me,” Sam said miserably and shook his head. “This is… this sucks.”

“Yeah, you’re graceful, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his brother’s glower and pulled the scissors out of the first aid kit. “You’re also down a shirt.” He cut the cuff open and laid the sleeve open as it was already torn from the knife almost to the elbow. “Shit, Sam.” He scowled at the long cut in his brother’s arm and shook his head as he grabbed gauze and disinfectant out of the kit. “You know, I never really paid much attention before, but the scars on your arms were gone when you, you know, got sprung from the Cage. Got one back now, dude.”

Sam raised his head enough to look down at his arm and shivered with the old memory of a ghoul wearing Adam’s face opening his arms up to bleed him dry. He dropped his head back with a groan. “Didn’t miss those.”

“Yeah, me either. This is gonna hurt,” Dean warned him and poured disinfectant over the cut until he was satisfied and Sam was shaking. “Ok, take it easy. Done.”

Sam loosened the fingers of his other hand from the bedspread and blew out a breath as the pain eased slightly. His head was swimming with the effects of blood loss and he could feel his stomach beginning to churn. Sam rolled his head to look at his brother as Dean bent over his wounded arm, trying to decide if he needed a tourniquet before going any further. “Have… have I lost too much?”

Dean looked up at him and smiled. “Nope. You’re good.” He said it firmly to try and allay Sam’s fear and he knew it was true. If Sam’s life were in danger, Sam wouldn’t be talking to him right then. Dean ducked his head back down to wipe blood away from the cut so he could see it to stitch it. Ezekiel would have taken over already and healed him if Sam’s life were in jeopardy. It was both comforting and frightening, especially after what had happened with Charlie. “Get this stitched up, you’ll be good as new. Get comfy.”

Sam nodded and closed his eyes while the room spun. “Might puke on you. Fair… fair warning.” He heard Dean’s snort of laughter and tried to relax when he felt the first bite and tug of the needle in his arm. He opened his eyes again and looked up at the ceiling. Sam realized this was the first chance he’d had since the witch and Charlie leaving to really think about any of it. He grimaced at the pull of a stitch and chewed on his bottom lip. A sick feeling was blowing through him with the knowledge that he’d been possessed… again. Castiel had long since removed the madness that had once nearly claimed his life, but the memories… and the fear… they were still there. There were few worse horrors he could think of than being trapped in your own mind and forced to watch yourself hurt the ones you love, and it was that fear that Lucifer had most often loved to torment him with, forcing Sam to kill his parents, Bobby, and Dean over and over until there had been days when Sam had clawed his _own_ eyes out just to escape if only for a moment. That he now had to add Charlie to the list of people he’d hurt while being used by some other entity was going to eat him up inside.

“Sammy.”

Sam jerked his eyes open with a gasp to find Dean leaning over him and peering worriedly into his face. He felt his brother’s hand heavy on his chest and the other holding his right arm still “Dean. What?”

“Should be askin’ you that. You alright?” Dean watched Sam’s eyes begin to settle and swallowed around his own fear. Sam had started trembling, his breaths hitching in and out of his chest, and Dean had looked up to find his little brother compulsively rubbing the palm of his left hand against his jeans, an action that had made Dean choke with his own fear for a moment. He hadn’t seen that particular coping mechanism in a long time and wasn’t happy about its return. “Talk to me, buddy. What’s goin’ on?”

“Sorry.” Sam shook his head. “Nothing. It’s… it’s nothing.”

“Nothing, my ass,” Dean grumbled, but he sat back down and picked up his abandoned needle.

Sam could hear the hurt in his brother’s voice at being shut out again and he blew out a breath. “I was just… it hit me, you know? I was possessed.” He put his free hand up to cover his face miserably. “Again. And I can’t…” Sam kept his face covered, not trusting himself to not cry just at that moment. “Feels like I lose a piece of myself every time.”

Dean’s heart leaped into his throat with Sam’s words, and he kept his head down. It was an effort to stop his hands from shaking as he tied off the last few stitches near his brother’s elbow. “Sammy…”

“I know. No one got hurt. Don’t beat myself up. It turned out alright in the end.” Sam let his arm thump back to the bed wearily and kept his eyes closed. “Doesn’t change it, Dean. I can’t stop feeling… violated.” He laughed but it was a harsh bark of miserable humor.

“Stop it, Sammy.” Dean finished bandaging his arm and moved to sit on the side of the bed next to Sam’s hip so he could see him better. “This wasn’t your fault. None of it… nothing that happens while you’re on mental lockdown is your fault.” He looked in Sam’s eyes when they opened and, for just a second, would have sworn he could feel Ezekiel looking back at him, like a silent warning. Sam wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t healed enough to survive on his own, and it didn’t matter that it was killing Dean to lie to him… the alternative was watching his little brother die again and he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. “It’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get through this like we have everything else, and you’re gonna be fine.”

Sam gave him a watery smile, not believing that for one second, but he nodded. Dean needed to believe it. “Ok.”

“Ok. Now how about you get some sleep?” Dean cleared away the supplies and stood. “Rack a couple hours and then I’ll cook you some tomato and rice soup or something.”

Sam laughed and this time it felt more real. He rolled onto his right side, leaving his arm stretched on the bed and nodded. “Sounds good, Dean.”

“Awesome.” Dean pulled a blanket up over his brother’s legs and flipped the light off on his way out the door. He stopped and looked back at Sam, highlighted in the sliver of light from the hallway. “It will be alright, Sammy. I promise.”

“I know, Dean,” Sam said tiredly as he drifted off. “Long’s you’re around.”

Dean pulled the door quickly closed and covered his face in his hands. The guilt was choking him, and he wondered if, when it was finally safe to tell his brother about Ezekiel, ~~if~~ Sam would ever forgive him… if he even deserved it anymore. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered and headed back to the kitchen to clean as he wiped tears from his eyes.

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_The End._

**Next Up:** NiDubhchair


	14. For NiDubhchair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For NiDubhchair - would it be possible to do a Teen!chester fic? In my head Dean is about 19 and Sam about 15,. I just like them when they're young & innocent ;-) my eye was caught by a news story about a father in Missouri who was tackled and tasered by police to keep him from running back into a burning building to save his toddler. The awfulness of the scenario tripped my hurt!guilty!Dean trigger, of course *evil laugh* So, I'd like to see a story where the brothers run afoul of some mean cops in a small town. Maybe they beat on Sam a little and Dean stands up to them and embarasses them. Later, the boys are on a ghost hunt or something and the building they're in catches fire. Sam is trapped inside and Dean is violently prevented from running in to save him by the same cops that harassed them earlier
> 
> A/N: Pre-series. Sam 15/Dean 19 as requested. I abridged the prompt here a little. It was much longer. Lol :D Oh, I think I can definitely have some with this one. :P Heh heh heh Oh, Dean. I do love you. Just remember that.

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Sam grumbled when Dean hip-checked him for a third time as they walked. “Knock it off, jerk!”

Dean chuckled. “Bitch.” He slung an arm over Sam’s shoulders and tried not to be concerned that in the last year, his once too-short little brother had shot up and was only four or five inches shorter than he was now, and he still had a couple years of growing to do. “So, what do you say you go do research in the library while I check out that little bar next door. Could be someone worth talkin’ to.”

Sam rolled his eyes fondly. “Dad said for us both to do the research, dumbass.”

“Hey, Dad knows you’re the research genius around here.” Dean grinned down at him and ruffled his hair. “Unless you want me irritatin’ your short ass for two or three hours.”

“No thanks!” Sam gave his brother a push when they reached the library and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder.

“You can fill me in when you’re done.” Dean’s smile faded slightly and he fixed Sam with a serious look. “You need to go anywhere else before I get back, you call me. Don’t talk to nobody you don’t have to…”

“Geez, Dean. I know. I’m fifteen, not five.” Sam rolled his eyes again, this time in exasperation, and ducked away from the hand Dean reached toward his hair. “See you in a couple hours.”

Dean dug a wallet out of his jacket and smiled. “Agent Conway’s gonna go have a beer and see if the locals know anything.”

Sam laughed and headed into the library. “You don’t look old enough to be an agent, you know!” he called over his shoulder and looked back to see Dean flip him off with a grin. He snorted a laugh and went inside, out of the cold with a grateful shiver as the library’s warm air brushed his face.

Dean watched his brother duck under a low-hanging sign before he moved out of sight and shook his head. “Kid’s gonna turn into a damn sasquatch or somethin’ at this rate.” He strode around the side of the library and smiled at the little bar tucked back beside it, straightened his jacket, and crossed the lot. Dean pushed through the doors and nodded when the bartender looked over and quirked a brow at him.

“Too young to be in here, son.” The bartender called and moved down the bar toward him.

Dean chuckled and pulled out his fake badge. “I’m older than I look… son.” He let the bartender have a look and then flipped it closed as he perched on the nearest barstool.

“Huh.” The bartender eyed the badge distrustfully, looking back and forth and finally shrugged. “What’ll it be, agent?”

“Whatever’s on tap.” Dean smiled and slid a ten across the bar when the bartender set a beer in front of him, foam sloshing from the top of the glass to roll down the side. “So, we’ve been askin’ around about the fires. Know anything that might help us?”

The bartender’s brows rose in surprise. “You came in here looking for information?”

“Bartenders know everything,” Dean said and winked. “You guys hear it all. So, come on. What do you know?”

“Well,” The bartender chuckled because the man was right. “Can’t say I’ve heard much, really, apart from the usual gossip.” He leaned on the bar and shrugged. “Folks are scared, of course. Houses just bursting into flames? Cops don’t give a crap, but that ain’t new.”

Dean nodded and sipped his beer. “They never do. What else?”

“Well, Barry. He’s one of the local firefighters. He was in here a few nights ago.” The bartender looked around to make sure the few other patrons in the bar weren’t listening before he spoke again. “He said they can’t find a cause for the fires, but they keep smelling something weird at all the crime scenes.”

Dean straightened. “Define ‘weird’.”

“Well, he said they smell like… rotten eggs or something, which apparently don’t make a lick of sense.” The bartender shrugged again. “He says all the places that’ve gone up had electric. No gas. So that smell shouldn’t have been there. He can’t figure it out.” He sighed sadly. “Folks are still trying to get over that fire three days ago. The Johnson family. Whole damn family.”

“I know.” Dean drank down more of his beer and felt for the dead family. He didn’t have to imagine what that horror had looked like; he’d seen it himself fifteen years ago. He shook the memory off and picked up his beer again. “Anything else?”

Dean had spoken to everyone in the bar, though that amounted to six people, when he looked at his watch and realized it’d been over two hours. “Crap.” He drained the rest of his beer and set the empty glass on the bar. “Hey, thanks man.” Dean gave the bartender a wave and headed out the door, the beers he’d drank giving him only the slightest buzz. The cold air that hit his face when he stepped outside took care of that, and he pulled his leather jacket more tightly around him as he broke into a brisk walk up the side of the library toward the front and his brother.

The sound of raised voices carried around the building as Dean neared the corner, and he picked up his pace. They sounded angry and he broke into a run when he realized one of them was his brother’s. “Sam?” Dean called and slid to a stop at the sight before him. Four officers surrounded his brother who was, as Dean watched, picking himself up off the ground only to be knocked down again when the tallest of the four kicked one of his feet out from under him. “HEY!”

The officers turned in surprise and the two nearest backed away out of instinct when the tall man in the leather coat ran for them. “Back off, kid. This ain’t none of your business.”

“Like hell it’s not! That’s my brother you’re screwin’ with!” Dean put his hands on the chest of the officer who had kicked Sam and shoved him hard enough that the man staggered back and landed on his ass. “Sammy?” He took his brother’s hand and pulled Sam to his feet. “You alright? What the hell’s goin’ on?”

“Your brother, huh?” The officer Dean had knocked down got back to his feet and moved to stand with the others. “You better teach that little shit not to talk to people he’s got no business talkin’ to. My daughter ain’t gonna put up with some trashy drifter makin’ eyes at her.”

“I didn’t… I just said hi.” Sam moved in against his brother and held onto his coat. “She was just… she dropped her books and I picked them up for her. That’s all.”

“Bullshit.”

Dean pushed Sam behind him when the cop swore and stalked toward them. “You better back the hell off now,” Dean warned. It hurt to hear his brother sound that scared, and it pissed him off.

“We’re cops, you little shit.” The officer Dean had shoved stuck his chest out. “What do you think you’re gonna do about it?”

Dean pushed Sam further back and rolled out his shoulders. “I think if you’re stupid enough to touch me, I’m gonna knock all four of you on your asses and you’re gonna watch me walk away with my little brother when I’m done.”

One of the cops snorted derisively. “What makes you think that’s gonna happen?”

Dean grinned dangerously. “The cameras on the door of the library that face right. Out. Here. I don’t think anyone’s gonna have a problem seeing that you were assaulting a little kid in front of a library. That’ll look great in court. Go on. Try it.”

“Dean,” Sam said softly, but his big brother flicked his fingers in the sign that meant back up. Sam sighed, still frightened, but did what he was told. He backed away and gave Dean the space he was going to need if one of the cops got stupid. Sam couldn’t help rolling his eyes when the father of the girl he’d talked to reached out and fisted a hand in his brother’s jacket. “Idiot.”

Dean grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted his fingers free from his jacket and kicked one of his knees out from under him. He spun landed a back-handed fist on the next cop who came for him that sent that man to his knees with a grunt. Dean took a firmer hold on the first cop’s arm and put all his weight into throwing the man into the two remaining officers, sending all three tumbling to the ground in a heap. Dean brushed his hands off and walked back to his brother. “Don’t you screw with my family again or I’ll be back for those surveillance tapes. Come on, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t argue when Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in. He slipped his arm around his brother’s waist and let himself be held. They’d scared him. “Sorry, Dean.”

“For what, midget?” Dean glanced down at him and then back to be sure the cops weren’t following. They weren’t, but the girl’s father was glaring daggers at their backs. Dean grinned and turned away. “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? Except maybe leavin’ the library without callin’ me.”

“I didn’t!” Sam looked up with big, sad eyes. “I swear, I didn’t, Dean! That cop, her dad? He pulled me out when he saw me giving her her books and talkin’, and he just…”

“Hey! Hey. Calm down, kiddo. I’m not mad at you. Come on.” Dean pulled him in tighter as they walked. “You know that, right?”

Sam nodded and tried to calm down. “Those cops are assholes.”

Dean laughed and nodded. “Yeah, they usually are. Hey, how about we not tell Dad, huh?”

“Oh, hell no,” Sam said quickly. “He’d lose it!”

“Seriously.” Dean pulled his brother around the corner and spotted the Impala where he’d left her just as the meter beside her dinged and went red. “Perfect timing! Go on, get in. We’ll pick up some pizza and go over your research before Dad gets back. Plan?”

“Plan.” Sam agreed happily and ran around the car to open the door and slide into the passenger seat. He exhaled noisily with relief when the doors were closed and the engine rumbled to life and smiled a little sheepishly when Dean chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.” Dean smiled and pulled out, putting idiot police officers out of his mind.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean pulled up and parked down the street from their intended house. He looked at it through the windshield and shook his head. “You sure about this?” The house was four stories and big, meant to house multiple families. Their dad had made a call a few hours earlier warning all the residents of electrical problems and ordering them to vacate, and, from the darkened windows, it looked like they had. Whatever happened tonight, if they were lucky, there wouldn’t be any civilian casualties.

Sam nodded. “Yep. All the fires follow a pattern. Time, type of building, and locations spiraling out from the first, so it’s either gonna be this house…”

“Or the one over on Main where Dad went. Ok.” Dean shut off the engine and opened his door. “Let’s go kick some ass, little brother.”

Sam smiled, climbed out, and went to the trunk. “I could be wrong, you know,” he said suddenly. “About it not being a demon. What if I am, Dean? What if it IS the thing that killed… killed Mom.”

“Hey.” Dean put the trunk up and clapped a hand to his little brother’s shoulder. “Dad says you’re right, you’re right. I trust ya, kiddo.”

Sam beamed with the praise and took the gun his brother handed him. He tucked it into the back of his pants and then grabbed the straps of the backpack. “I’m still not sure I like this plan.”

Dean smirked, put the heavy duffel over his shoulder and closed the trunk. “Only plan we got.” He gave his brother’s shoulder a push down the sidewalk. “I’ll keep Sparky the Fire Elemental busy while you pour the circle, and then we’ll hose him.” He patted his duffel and the two fire extinguishers inside it.

“Unless it turns up at Dad’s house instead.” Sam shrugged and worried about their father facing the thing alone.

“Don’t jinx us, dude!” Dean chuckled. “Never seen an elemental before, and _we’re_ gonna bag this bitch, not Dad.”

Sam gave a soft laugh as they neared the house and shook his head. “You like doin’ this stuff way too much, dude.”

“A happy man is a man who loves his work, Sammy.” Dean grinned and took a careful look up and down the street to make sure it was clear before turning them up the walk to the large house.

Sam sighed and didn’t answer. Unlike his brother, he couldn’t see spending the rest of his life doing this, travelling from motel to job to motel and butting heads with his dad every time he wanted a little slice of normal. He watched Dean try the knob on the front door and then step back, raising a brow at Sam. “Right.” Sam smirked and pulled his lockpicks from his back pocket.

“Maybe I should get out the stopwatch,” Dean said and chuckled.

“Won’t have time,” Sam said distractedly as he slid the picks into the door. He gave a practiced twitch with his fingers while he saw Dean’s hand go into his pocket and then pulled his picks out.

“Givin’ up already, squirt?” Dean asked in surprise.

Sam gave the knob a turn and pushed the door open. “You were saying?”

“Ha. Ha. Don’t get cocky, Sammy,” Dean said and followed him in with a grin. He squeezed his little brother’s shoulder to let him know he was proud of him and looked around the entry hall. “Where you wanna do this?”

Sam looked up the stairs and nodded. “Next floor up. There’s a common area or something on the floor plan. That should give us plenty of room.”

“Good idea. Let’s go.” Dean jogged up the stairs with Sam at his back. “Which way?”

Sam moved ahead of him and led the way down the dimly lit hall. “Should be back here, right… about…” Sam gave a set of double doors a push and smiled. “… here.”

“Nice.” Dean nodded as they walked into what looked like a day room. Couches and chairs lined the walls. There were a few small televisions, some bookshelves, and a row of windows along one wall. He went to a couple of low coffee tables in the middle of the room and gave them each a kick out of the way so they had a clear area to work.

“You know what to do?” Sam asked his brother and set his backpack down. He opened it and pulled out two cans of salt and a bag of cat’s eye shells.

“Yep.” Dean came over and thumped his duffel down next to his brother. He unzipped it and pulled the extinguishers out, setting them on the floor. He pulled a candle out of his pocket and set it down in the middle of the floor, then his lighter, and quickly lit it. “I get to stand out here with the open flame and look tasty for Sparky.”

Sam smiled and shook his head. “Try not to get burned up, please?” He pulled the two incantations they’d need from his pocket and unfolded them. “Here.” He handed one to his brother and then moved back to the door.

Dean sighed and rolled his shoulders. “How come this crap can’t ever be written in English? Friggin’ Latin.”

Sam chuckled and picked up the two salt canisters. He knew he was going to have to be fast to trap the elemental before it could hurt his brother. “Ok, go.”

Dean began the incantation and kept his eyes on the candle as he wrapped his tongue around the Latin. He was maybe halfway through when the candle began to gutter. The flame spurted up several inches and Dean took a step back. It shot a few feet into the air and he took another step, never breaking his rhythm with the spell.

Sam waited, trembling with nerves while Dean’s steady voice filled the room. He bit his lip as the flame on the candle began to shoot higher while wax pooled around its base. His brother finished the spell, and Sam gasped as the little flame became an inferno, reaching up to the ceiling. Within the tightly coiled fire there was a dark figure and it turned toward his brother.

Dean waved a hand out to his brother and put his attention on the elemental. “How you doin’, torch boy. Flame on, huh?” He grinned and dodged back from a spurt of fire. Dean chuckled. “Touchy.”

Sam started pouring a heavy circle of salt, getting as close as he dared. Every so often he fumbled a cat’s eye shell from his pocket and laid it atop the line to strengthen the ward, all while Dean continued to taunt the elemental and keep its attention focused on him.

Dean kept track of Sam’s progress from the corner of his eye and dropped to his knees when the elemental sent another spurt of flame toward his head. “Hey! Not the hair, asshole!” He looked up and saw the ceiling tiles above them beginning to blacken and smoke and frowned. “Ok, that’s not good.” He watched the elemental turn suddenly to look at Sam who was close to finishing the circle and Dean snarled. “Nope.” He pulled a flask of holy water from his pocket, twisted the cap off and splashed it into the flames. “Hey! Asshole! Eyes over here!” The elemental roared as the water struck it and turned back to Dean.

“Crap,” Sam breathed and moved faster to cover the last few feet to his starting point. He closed the salt circle and set down another cat’s eye shell and turned to his brother. “Dean! Get out of there!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Dean yelped as the flames rushed toward him again and dove over the salt line. He rolled to his feet and slapped out the sleeve of his jacket with a snarl.

“You alright?” Sam grabbed his brother’s arm and looked, relieved to see the leather was just slightly singed.

“Let’s do this.” Dean smiled and went to the extinguishers. He gave one to Sam and brought the other one up, freeing the hose. The elemental raged inside the circle with flames bursting out and washing up against the salt line like an invisible wall. The ceiling above, however, was burning as Dean watched. “Quicker the better. I don’t like the looks of that.”

“Me either.” Sam stepped up to the edge of the circle and moved around across from his brother. “Ready?”

“Let her rip!” Dean grinned and squeezed the handle on his extinguisher.

Sam propped the canister under one arm and started the nozzle spraying foam into the circle. He pulled the banishing spell out of his pocket with his other hand and started reading it.

Dean chuckled as the elemental roared flames around itself in a bid for escape while steam and smoke began to fill the room. “Suck foam, Sparky!” he called with a laugh.

Sam grinned as he continued the Latin. He neared the end of the spell and looked up to find the elemental had expanded to fill the salt circle in its rage. The ceiling above it was black, and he could see flickers of fire above the ceiling tiles through the steam. He spoke the last few words and staggered back to land on his backside when the elemental seemed to explode inside the circle.

Dean grunted as he thumped into the wall behind him. He blinked and grinned as the elemental began to collapse in on itself. “Nice. Sammy?” He shook his head and moved out from the wall. The steam and smoke cleared a little, and he saw his little brother climbing to his feet across from him. “Hey! You alright?”

“Yeah.” Sam rubbed his butt with a rueful smile and started around the circle toward his brother. He was sure the elemental was dead or nearly, but he wasn’t willing to risk breaking the circle just in case. “I’m goo…” he gasped and jerked himself backward as some of the ceiling above him crashed down in a hail of flames and cinders. “Dean?”

“Sammy!” Dean yelled and had to duck away as more of the ceiling collapsed. “Holy crap!” The elemental’s flames had eaten into the ceiling above the circle and Dean could hear a fire roaring above them now. With the creature dead, the flames were no longer contained within the circle.

“Dean!” Sam stumbled through a haze of smoke and reached his brother. “This isn’t good.”

“No shit. We gotta get outta here. Come on!” Dean ducked low as he began to cough and headed for the door.

“Right behind you!” Sam shouted.

Dean glanced back and felt Sam’s hand land on his back. He nodded and broke into a run for the stairs as the flames started creeping down from the ceiling to eat along the walls, and smoke started to fill the hall. He pounded down the stairs with his arms over his head as more flaming bits of ceiling tile fell and reached the street, gasping for breath. There was a small crowd of onlookers and a few police officers. Dean dismissed them and turned as he reached the sidewalk to check on his brother. The bottom fell out of Dean’s world as the air punched out of his lungs. Sam wasn’t behind him anymore. “SAM!” How had he not kept Sam behind him? Why didn’t he make him go first? How had he let his little brother out of his sight in a burning building? Guilt sank into Dean’s stomach like a weight along with the heart-stopping realization that his brother was probably dead and it was his fault. “No,” Dean whispered in horror.

“Hey!”

Dean ignored the voice behind him and started back toward the building. He took only a step before someone tackled him from behind. He hit the ground hard and rolled, kicking the man off him. Dean realized with a spurt of surprise that it was the officer whose daughter Sam had spoken too. “Do not have TIME for you!” He kicked the officer’s shoulder and surged back to his feet.

“No, you don’t, kid.”

Dean heard the threat and then shouted in pain as something sharp hooked into his chest and an electrical current roared through him. He hit the ground on his back, only distantly feeling it as the voltage from the taser continued to course. Dean sagged and gasped for breath when the current was finally cut. The only thought in his head was Sam and the fear was beginning to choke him.

“Wait! Wait!” Dean panted and held up a hand. “My brother!” He waved a shaky arm toward the now wildly burning house. “He’s in there!”

“Probably shouldn’t’a set it on fire then, huh?”

“Wha’?” Dean stared in shock and then grunted as the air was knocked out of him with the officer’s boot in his stomach. He rolled his head up and saw two more of the officers he’d knocked down early and groaned. The sound was cut off as the taser was turned on and he jerked helplessly in its grip.

“Bet you don’t feel so big now, huh, asshole?” The first officer asked with a grin and delivered another kick to the young man’s back. “Still think you can knock us down? Teach you a little respect for the law, you punk! See if you can…” The officer grunted as something hard impacted his back and he was rolled across the ground along with another of his officers. He shook his head and looked up to watch as a man as tall as the one on the ground but scruffier and harder looking stalked toward him with eyes that screamed rage as they glared down at him.

“Three cops to beat up one kid?” John Winchester turned, spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the last cop standing over his son and holding that damn taser. The officer’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground, still. “You’re gonna regret layin’ a hand on my son. Dean?”

“Dad,” Dean gasped. He reached down and yanked the taser’s hooks out of his skin then scrambled shakily to his feet.

“Where’s Sammy?” John frowned as he glanced quickly around and didn’t see his youngest.

“No.” Dean shook his head and took off at a run for the burning house.

“Dean!” John yelled after him and then it struck him. There was only one reason Dean would go running into a burning building. “Oh, God. Sammy.” He shook himself when the two officers in front of him started to move again. He stomped on the hand of one of the men when he reached for his gun. John yanked the pistol free of its holster while the man shouted. He gave a hard kick to the head of the last man who bore the evidence on his face of having gone a round with his eldest at some point. John tossed the gun into the grass and watched his eldest vanish into the house.

Dean wrapped an arm around his aching ribs and put his other across his face as he rushed through the door and into the heavy smoke. “Sammy!” he shouted hoarsely and started up the stairs. Flaming debris fell and floated from the floor above. He felt his hair singing and had to duck away from the wall along the stairs as fire ate down the wallpaper. It was a growing inferno, and every moment that Sam wasn’t in his sight made it hard to breathe, never mind the smoke. Dean’s eyes watered furiously as he reached the top of the stairs and saw that most of the ceiling had caved in. “SAMMY!” He coughed and then he heard it, just under the roar of the fire, a thin voice calling his name. “SAM! I’m comin’!” Dean followed the sound of his brother’s voice. He staggered around a pile of burning debris and saw another head. Flames licked at the top of the pile along what looked like a ceiling beam and under it, beneath the beam and a collection of tiles, Sam’s head stuck out.

Sam coughed and gasped, trying to catch his breath. He lifted his head up and his already watering eyes streamed tears when he saw Dean’s legs in front of him and then his brother’s face was there. “Dean,” he gasped on a cough and let his eyes close in relief when his brother’s hands went into his hair.

“Sammy.” Dean held on to his head for a moment and then smiled. “Gonna get you outta this, ok? Just hang on.”

“Fell on me...” Sam gasped and coughed into the floor again. “…was followin’ you.”

Dean squeezed the back of Sam’s neck for a second and then knelt up over him. He shoved his hands into the pile and braced a foot on the floor. He growled with effort as he pushed and put all his weight behind it, ignoring the licks of flame that crawled toward him. It didn’t matter because Dean was either going to get Sammy out of there or die trying. Finally, the pile of debris and the ceiling beam moved and tumbled back into the hall. Dean staggered and then dropped next to his brother, slapping smoldering ceiling tiles off his back. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded wearily and rolled to his side. He held up an arm and let Dean haul him to his feet. His lungs were burning, and standing set him coughing hard enough to double him over and leave him gasping on his knees.

“Crap. Ok.” Dean pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders and slid another under his knees. “Up we go.” He staggered to his feet again with his brother coughing into his neck and turned to the stairs and the hail of sparks and flaming tiles falling. Dean swallowed hard and started down.

John Winchester stood on the sidewalk watching the house burn. The upper floors were engulfed with flames climbing into the night sky. He fought his instinct to run in himself, knowing it would be impossible to see anything and he had no idea in which direction his boys would have gone. He could hear the wail of sirens in the distance and the men at his feet were forgotten as his sons emerged from a door wreathed in fire. Dean staggered into view with his brother held in his arms and the scene was so close, so reminiscent of fifteen years ago, that John’s knees went weak as he moved toward them. He grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulders when they reached him and went to his knees along with his eldest in remembered pain and terror. “Dean. Is he…”

“He’s alive,” Dean gasped and coughed, hunching over his brother and let his head thump into his father’s shoulder weakly. “S’alive.”

John pulled them both in and dropped his face into Sam’s dark hair. All he could smell was smoke, but he heard Sam’s wheezing, coughing breaths and it brought tears to his eyes with relief. “You’re ok. You’re both ok.”

“Hey, you son’fa bitch!” The officer that had hassled both boys because of his daughter climbed to his feet and put a hand on his gun as he looked at the three people on the ground. He scowled when a group of people moved in between them. “Get the hell outta the way!” In response, the small crowd closed ranks, all of them looking at him with anger in their faces.

“You best move on now, son,” One old man stepped forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “Saw whatch’a did to that boy there. We ain’t lettin’ you beat on that family no more.”

“I’m a cop!”

“You’re wearin’ a badge. Don’t make you one a the good guys.” The old man nodded and stepped back with the others.

The officer stared and threw off the hand that took his arm, trying to pull him away. “You gotta be kiddin’ me!”

“Come on!” One of the other officers pulled on his arm and dragged him back a few steps. “Man, we’re gonna get nailed ifthey ask these folks what happened! We gotta get outta here!”

The old man watched the cops drag their fellow officer away and moved through the crowd to the family still kneeling on the grass. He knelt beside the father and touched his shoulder lightly. “I’m thinkin’ you all oughta be getting’ outta here before there’s real trouble.”

John nodded and smiled. “Thank you.” He looked back at his sons and palmed the side of Dean’s face, lifting his head. “Hey, Ace. You think you can walk? Just to the car, ok?”

Dean nodded wearily and fought back the urge to cough some more. “Can do it. Just help me get ‘im up.”

“No problem.” John stood on weak legs, still dealing with the shock of what had nearly happened and brought Dean and Sam up with him. “Sammy?”

Sam blinked and nodded to his father. “Hey… hey, Dad.”

John blinked suspiciously damp eyes and started them moving down the street toward the Impala. He’d come back for his truck later. Right now he wanted his boys safe. “Hey, Sammy. You’re gonna be fine, son.” He shepherded them back to the car and opened the back door, letting Dean climb in the backseat with his brother. Somehow, Dean managed to get both himself and Sam’s lanky body inside like it was nothing, and John closed the door before jogging around to the driver’s side. He looked back at the burning house and swallowed hard around the lump of fear still lodged in his throat. For a moment, all he could see was their little white house as it burned and took his Mary with it. John shook himself and climbed behind the wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror at his sons, huddled together in the back seat and closed his eyes for a moment to say a silent thanks.

“Ok, Sammy?” Dean tipped his brother’s head back and got a tired nod.

“Yeah.” Sam coughed again and didn’t feel like making a stink about still being cradled in his brother’s arms like a kid. He needed it. “I’m good.”

“Yeah, you are.” Dean pulled him in and held on to him as their dad drove them away and to safety. Sam could tease him later about being a clingy girl if he wanted to but the fear was still too fresh, the terror of having nearly lost him to fire still too painful. He needed to feel Sam’s heart beating under his arm. “Sorry, tiger. Should’a made sure you were behind me.”

Sam shook his head into his brother’s neck and fisted a hand in his leather jacket. “Not your fault. I’m the idiot…” he stopped and coughed to clear his throat. “…the idiot who didn’t look up while I was running.”

Dean smiled and carded a hand back through Sam’s hair. “Next time I’m puttin’ you on a damn leash.”

“Are not, jerk.” Sam said and rolled his eyes.

“You watch me, bitch.” Dean grinned.

“Boys.” John gave a soft chuckle and glanced at them in the mirror again, meeting Dean’s eyes in the mirror and saw the same need to protect reflected there.

“Little pink leash with rhinestone studs, Sammy,” Dean promised with a laugh and knew he was only half-kidding. He sighed and smiled when Sam chuckled, settled in against his chest and went heavy with exhaustion. Dean tightened his arms around his little brother reflexively. “I gotcha, Sammy.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** Vanessa Sgroi


	15. For Vanessa Sgroi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Vanessa Sgroi - I'm a hurt!Dean junkie so my request, of course, is for something a little hurt!Dean (with an generous side order of awesome-little-brother!Sam)… Or bi-bro injuries where the boys are recovering and getting on each other’s nerves--nothing major just say mutual grouchiness--yet they have to help each other out.
> 
> A/N: I set this one just generally in Season 1 somewhere. LOL Probably early. I didn’t have a specific place in mind, just season 1 boys seemed to work out with this one. I hope you enjoy it! :D The delay was caused by A: The Olympics. I’m a fan. Lol and B: Had my first book signing on Sunday. It was awesome and blew my focus to hell for a few days. Heh. Totally worthwhile reason.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam looked up at his brother where Dean lounged against the headstone and scowled at him yet again. “You could come down here and help, you know.” He tossed a shovelful of dirt up onto Dean’s feet and ducked his head away when his brother kicked some of it back in.

“Nope.” Dean grinned. “I won fair and square. You do all the digging tonight, bitch.”

Sam growled under his breath and bent back to his task. “You cheated.”

Dean chuckled softly and nodded while Sam wasn’t looking. He had cheated and made a mental note to get the two cards out of his jacket pocket before Sam wised up and went looking. Cheating his brother at poker wasn’t something he’d normally do, but he couldn’t bear the thought of even trying to lift a damn shovel just then. More importantly, he certainly had no intention of letting Sam knowjust how badly he’d been dinged up the night before when the ghost had taken a few shots at them. If Sam had had any idea of just how badly Dean was hurting, he would have insisted on doing the salt-and-burn by himself. His left shoulder, which Dean had knocked back into place with an obliging door jamb, burned pain up into his head, and his right knee had twisted badly on his fall down the stairs. He’d snuck a bandage out of the first aid kit while Sam was showering the night before and wrapped it to try and keep the swelling down.   
  
The EMF meter in Dean’s left hand began to whine, and he raised the shotgun in his other. “Pick it up, Sammy. Captain Grumpy’s comin’ back for round three.” He might have considered giving in and letting Sam know he needed some downtime, but that would have meant his little brother out there trying to dig and fend off a pissed-off spirit on his own, and Dean wasn’t about to allow that to happen.

“Going as fast as I can, jerk,” Sam grumbled and tossed another clod of moist earth up out of the grave. He looked up when the shotgun roared and saw Dean grinning down at him.

“I got this. Keep digging.” Dean waved Sam off and stayed alert. He smirked to himself; probably too alert given how many energy drinks he’d downed in the gas station earlier just to counteract the need to sleep from the pain killers he’d had to give in and take. He bounced a little on the headstone he was leaning against and then snorted a laugh. He made himself stop before Sam could look up and catch him.

The shovel clanged into the lid of a coffin and Sam grinned. “Finally! Found it!” he called up and started dragging dirt off the lid so he could crack it open. Sam felt a cold puff of air on the back of his neck and instinctively dropped forward onto the coffin. A second later, the shotgun sounded and he felt rock salt showered over his back.

“You good?” Dean looked down into the grave as Sam pushed up from the coffin. “Jackass snuck in on me.”

Sam nodded and got to his knees. He brushed salt from his hair and picked up his shovel and then frowned when he got a good look at Dean. “Are you alright?” His big brother looked pale, had those lines between his eyes that usually meant pain, and he could see the barrel of the shotgun in his right hand trembling. “Dean?”

“What? I’m fine. Dig already!” Dean made an effort to look perfectly healthy because his little brother was suddenly sporting that face that clearly said ‘I’m on to you’.

“Uh huh.” Sam scowled up at him and shook his head. He bent back to the coffin, scraping more dirt off and snorted. “Wouldn’t let _me_ get away with that ‘I’m fine’ crap,” he muttered with a soft laugh. Sam glanced back up and knew he was going to be picking a fight with Dean when they were done until he fessed up to whatever injury he was hiding.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to shake out his left arm. It proved to be a bad idea, and he had to grit his teeth as he slammed his eyes closed to hold back the grunt of pain. He fought the spots crawling across his vision even with his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath with his shoulder suddenly screaming, and he knew the moment Winchester luck arrived to make him payfor being stubborn. Sam’s voice cried out his name, striking fear into Dean’s heart, and he forced his eyes open.

“Dean!” Sam jerked back as the spirit appeared in front of him. He looked up for his brother and grunted in pain when the handle of his shovel slammed into his forehead and knocked him over backward onto the lid of the coffin. “Shoot him!”

“Crap!” Dean brought the muzzle of the shotgun up as the spirit turned to glare at him and pulled the trigger, dispersing him again. “Sammy?”

Sam groaned and stayed where he was for a moment, leaning back against the earthen wall of the grave. “That hurt.” He blinked his eyes open again and looked up at his brother. “Dude, were you asleep?”

Dean blew out a breath, relieved that Sam was awake, but he was still concerned. “Dude, you’re bleeding.” Blood was running down his brother’s face from a cut on his forehead, and he nodded when Sam raised a hand to run his fingers through it with wide eyes.

“Crap. Ok.” Sam pushed up, the world did a little, lazy spin on him and he thumped back. “Uh… think you gotta finish this. Whoa.”

“Well, shit,” Dean leaned back against the headstone miserably and knew he couldn’t. “Come up out of there. We’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“No… no way. Gotta gank him, Dean. S’killin’ people.” Sam protested with a slight slur, giving him further evidence that he was concussed, as if he needed it with the way his head was spinning and his stomach churning. “Just get the… ge’the coffin open and you’re good.”

“Right. About that.” Dean waited for Sam’s eyes to open again and meet his. “I, uh… I really can’t.” He looked up and shook his head for a second before looking back down. “I can’t climb down there and I can’t get the coffin open, alright?”

“Knew you were hidin’ something.” Sam glared up at his brother, but it was ruined as his eyes crossed and he slammed them closed on a soft moan.

“Sam?” Dean asked worriedly. He smiled again when Sam looked up at him and nodded to say he was alright. “Ok, so yeah. Banged up my shoulder and knee.” He snorted softly. “I totally cheated your ass to get out of digging. Obviously, I gotta work on teachin’ you to spot a cheater.”

“You are such… a jerk.” Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes and slowly, so slowly got onto his knees using the shovel to prop himself up. “Crap. Ok. I can do this.”

Dean watched his little brother pick himself up and start prying at the lid of the coffin, all while squinting like he was trying not to pass out, and he felt like shit for it. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

Sam pried up the edge of the lid and set the shovel aside as he breathed heavily, fighting the need to throw up. “Make you pay for it… later.” He took hold of the lid and put his shoulders into it as he wrenched the top half up and open.

“No, you don’t, jackass,” Dean snarled as the EMF whined. He brought the shotgun up and yelped as an invisible force slammed into his chest. He fired at the same moment, and all the air was knocked out of him as he toppled backwards over the headstone behind him to thump into the ground.

“Dean?” Sam watched the spirit disperse yet again, and when his brother didn’t answer, he groaned. “Dammit.” He stood and took hold of the edge of the grave. He pulled himself out, slipping back once when his head spun dangerously, and finally reached his knees beside the open pit. Sam pulled their bag over and fumbled out the salt and lighter fluid. He quickly dumped salt down onto the bones and looked over for his brother. “Dean?” It took him a moment through his double vision to realize he was looking at one of Dean’s feet atop the headstone. “You alive?”

“Yeah,” Dean groaned and didn’t make an attempt to move. “You should fry that dick before he comes back.”

“Right.” Sam fought with the top of the lighter fluid, unable to really tell where his fingers were, until he got it open and squirted that over the side as well. He felt the temperature begin to plunge again and pulled out his lighter. Habit thankfully let him flick it open and spin the wheel, and he dropped the lit lighter down into the grave as the spirit appeared. He smiled in relief when it screamed and went up in a ball of flames, and then Sam sagged over to rest his head in his hands. He grimaced at the blood he could feel still flowing from the cut on his forehead and figured his face must look like something out of a horror movie.

“Sammy?” Dean raised his head and brought his right arm over to cover his chest. Calling Sam’s name made his back hurt, his shoulder… hell, even his knee, and he let his head fall back with a grunt of pain. “S’gonna suck.” He let his left foot drop to the ground from the headstone and slowly rolled to his right. It took him a couple minutes of heavy breathing and swallowed cries of pain to move so he was sitting, and he realized with a twinge of fear that his brother hadn’t appeared yet. “Sam?”

“M’comin’.” Sam forced his head back up, discarded the idea of actually standing, and got to his hands and knees. He crawled forward two steps and his stomach revolted against the constant spinning of his head. He turned and heaved what little he’d eaten that day down into the grave.

Dean heard the retching and moved enough to see his little brother. He chuckled and shook his head. “Blowin’ chunks on the dead guy. Nice.”

Sam coughed and spit, then started forward again. “Shuddup…” he stopped and looked over and snorted. “…both of you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam’s blood-covered face and the admission that he was seeing double. “Dude, how bad?”

Sam reached the headstone and cautiously used it to sit back on his feet. “You… you’re drivin’.” He chuckled as he swayed. “’less you wan’… wan’t me to re’range… rearrange the front end on a guardrail.”

“Crap.” Dean blew out an annoyed breath.

“Wouldn’t have happened… you’d told me you were hurt.” Sam slapped at his brother’s leg and missed. “Dumbass.”

Dean nodded, conceding the point. “Alright. Help me up. You get me walkin’, I’ll make sure you go in a straight line… probably.” He watched his little brother squint and stare at the ground like he was thinking real hard about something. “Dude.”

“Huh? Right.” Sam used the headstone he was still holding onto to get to his feet, wobbled, and went back down to his knees with a breathless moan. “Crap… crap. Ok. Hang on.”

“Dammit.” Dean rolled his eyes and pulled his good leg under him. He grabbed the headstone with his good arm, pulled, and never made it off his backside when he tried and failed to bend his right knee. “Son of a bitch,” he gasped and slammed his eyes closed while he fought off the need to throw up.

Sam chuckled and then started laughing even as he held his head. “Dude, we’re… we’re a mess.” He took a breath between laughs and got back to his knees and then his feet, however unsteadily. “Ok. Take… take m’arm.”

Dean looked up and grimaced. Sam looked two seconds away from passing out and falling over backwards into the grave, but Dean wrapped his right hand around his brother’s forearm. “Slowly, ok?”

“Yeah.” Sam focused on pulling back to get his brother off the ground.

Dean used Sam as leverage to get up without using his right leg and let go of his arm to toss it over his little brother’s shoulders once he was standing. “Don’t fall, dude,” he said quickly when Sam’s head dropped and bumped into his jaw before settling on his shoulder. “Dude. Head up.”

Sam opened his eyes, looking down at Dean’s shoes and groaned. “Hang… hang on.” He stretched an arm down and just managed to hook a strap of the duffel bag and pull it over. He turned his head slightly and found Dean’s shotgun and nudged that over with a foot until he could reach it.

“Dude,” Dean snorted a laugh while Sam maneuvered his shotgun into reach and shoved it into the bag. “You look ridiculous.”

“Shuddup,” Sam grumbled. He pulled the bag up and over his shoulder and then slowly raised his pounding head. “Kay. M’good. Le’s go.”

“Don’t kick my knee,” Dean warned as they started in a slow stagger away from the burning grave. “Goin’ down if you do.” He concentrated on keeping Sam moving in a straight line, which wasn’t as easy as it should have been as his little brother kept listing to the side. Dean tucked the fingers of his left hand behind his belt buckle to help keep his arm from moving too much. Every twinge of motion made his eyes cross and his breath clog and made it fairly obvious his left shoulder was still damn well out of joint.

Sam swallowed repeatedly as they walked. He was in imminent danger of puking all over his brother’s boots if he didn’t get to lie down soon. He closed his eyes and trusted Dean to steer him true. “Wish I could… see straight.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not driving.” Dean rolled his eyes as they neared the Impala and he nudged Sam up the driver’s side of the sleek car. “Door. Get the door open, dude.”

“Right.” Sam fumbled his hand against the car until he found the handle and pulled it open. He shifted so Dean could support himself on the roof and door of the car and leaned against the back door while his brother maneuvered himself down into the seat.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Dean moaned once he was seated and had managed to stretch his bum right leg over into the passenger footwell. He leaned his head back on the seat and blew out a breath. “This is gonna be fun.”

Sam eased the driver’s side door closed and then pulled open the back door. He sat gingerly, pulled his legs into the car and got the door closed before he slumped slowly over onto the backseat on his side with a groan. “Crap.”

“No sleeping, Sammy,” Dean said loudly and watched in the rearview mirror as Sam raised an arm and flipped him off.

“I’Sam,” Sam slurred with his eyes closed and didn’t bother to lift his head. “Jus’ drive an’ try not… don’t kill us.”

Dean turned the car on and eased his left foot onto the gas pedal. The Impala lurched ahead a few feet and he took his foot off. “Ok, this sucks.” He checked the mirror and saw Sam pushing his back into the seat where he lay. “Sam?”

“Still awake,” Sam grumbled. He braced his left hand on the bench seat in front of him when the car started moving again and didn’t envy his big brother having to drive with his off foot.

Dean swerved a little on his way out of the cemetery and kept his speed as low as he dared. It would suck to be pulled over for driving too slow, and he couldn’t think how he’d begin to explain why he was driving the way he was. He was thankful it was only a twenty minute drive back to their motel and toyed with the idea as he drove of just heading for the nearest emergency room.

“Sam?” Dean looked in the mirror as they neared the motel and waited, not getting a response. “Sam, you don’t answer me in the next ten seconds I’m takin’ your concussed ass to the clinic down the road.” He slowed at the entrance to the motel and frowned worriedly. “Sammy. Doctor’s pokin’ you in weird places, man. Speak up.” When no reply came, Dean pressed the gas and bypassed the motel for the clinic he knew was five minutes up the road. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and drove, no longer concerned about how fast he was going as Sam continued to be silent in the backseat. He nearly missed the turn off to the clinic when he couldn’t get his left foot over to the brake in time and squealed his tires into the parking lot.

Dean parked in front of the entrance and groaned as he tried to figure out how to get out of the car on his own. “Dammit.” He sighed and started honking the horn, figuring it wouldn’t take whoever was inside more than a few times to realize something was going on. He was right when, half a minute later the doors of the clinic slid open and two men, both in scrubs, came out and rounded the Impala. Dean realized suddenly he couldn’t open the door with his bad shoulder. “Oh, this is awesome,” he groaned. When the men reached the driver’s side, he waved a hand at the door until one of them opened it.

“Do you need help, sir?” The taller of the two men asked and looked into the classic car curiously.

“Climbing accident.” Dean pointed to his left shoulder. “I got banged up, left shoulder and right knee.” He hooked a thumb behind him. “My little brother cracked his head and I can’t wake him up. You need to check on him now. No.” Dean brushed off the hand that reached for him. “Sam first.”

“Damn.” The other man pulled open the back door of the Impala and looked at the very tall man sprawled over the back seat. “We’re gonna need a gurney and a couple more guys. Brad?”

“Yeah. On it.”

“I’m Steve,” he said to the brother’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror as he leaned in over Sam. “Doctor on duty for the night. What’s your name?”

“Dean. He alright?” Dean turned as far as he was able with a grimace of pain to try and watch.

Steve picked up Sam’s left arm and clasped his fingers around his wrist and his eyes widened when he got a good look at the young man’s blood-covered face. He took a penlight out of his pocket and pried up one of Sam’s lids, flicking the light over the blue-green pupil beneath and nodded. “Reaction’s a little more sluggish than I’d like, but his pulse is good, breathing evenly.” He looked up and saw Brad and two more men emerge with two gurneys. “Have you both out of here in a sec.”

Dean listened to the doctor climb back out of the car and then he was kneeling beside him in the door again. “Get Sam first, ok? I’m just banged up some. He’s…”

“Gonna be fine.” Steve ignored the man’s attempts to push him away again as he used careful hands to pull the battered leather jacket away from his shoulder. He smiled. “So, you’d be the big brother then.”

Dean was surprised into a snort of laughter. “Yeah.”

“Just sit tight.” Steve stood up and waved the orderlies over. “The man in the back seat’s unconscious. Try to keep his head as still as you can. Get him out first.” He leaned down to look in at the older brother. “You don’t mind waiting, right?”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “Nope. I’m good.” He turned his head again as the door opened on the other side of the car and watched while his brother’s long form was hauled carefully out and onto a gurney. It made his stomach churn the way Sam went like a rag doll.

“He’ll be fine, Dean. Now, how about we get you out of here?” Steve smiled at the concern on his face and waved Brad over. “I’m gonna get under his shoulders and pull him out. You steady that leg for me. Ok, Dean. Just let us do the work.”

“Sam,” Dean gasped as the doctor turned him and his shoulder moved. “Sam, was slurrin’, doc. He was seeing double.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Steve assured Dean and put all his attention on supporting the surprisingly heavy man as he pulled him from the car. “How did you… contort yourself in here?”

Dean gave a small laugh, breathless with pain and slammed his eyes closed as his right knee bent. “Sam. Had to.”

“Right.” Steve smiled and held onto all of Dean’s upper body weight while Brad got hold of the injured leg and kept it straight. “Gurney. Keep that leg stable.” As Dean’s leg was eased out into the light, he could see that the man’s knee was swollen inside the leg of his jeans.

The pain in Dean’s shoulder hit a new level of agony as they started to turn him and slide the gurney beneath him and he grit his teeth as it seemed to shoot straight up into his head and blissfully took the world away for a while.

Dean groaned his way back to consciousness with the feel of someone’s hands on him and he instinctively tried to swing out to defend himself in his confusion.

“Whoa! Dean! Dean, you’re fine. Open your eyes!”

Dean frowned, recognizing the voice as one he’d heard recently and opened his eyes to look up into the doctor’s face. “Steve. Right?”

Steve smiled and nodded. “Right.” He waved off the orderly that had come over to try and hold Dean down when his fist had swung and blew out a breath of relief. “Try not to move too much just yet, alright?”

“Sammy?” Dean leaned up, ignoring the doctor’s advice and looked around the large, bare room, not seeing Sam anywhere. “Where’s my brother?”

“Lay back.” Steve pushed the man back into the bed and waited for Dean’s green eyes to look angrily up at him. “Sam’s fine. They’ll be bringing him in here soon.” He patted Dean’s good shoulder and smiled. “Took us a little work to get your shoulder back in properly and you’re lucky you were out for that.”

Dean looked down and realized his left arm was strapped across his chest and completely immobile. He quirked a brow. “My knee?”

“Also dislocated.” Steve patted the young man’s shoulder again. “Don’t worry. It was minor and we got that back in place as well. You won’t be running any races for a while, but you should get full range of movement back in your knee and your shoulder. Now, Sam.”

“What? You said he was fine!” Dean said accusingly and rose up on his good elbow again only to be pushed back down.

“And he is. Our scans showed some intracranial swelling. We’ve treated it and he’s doing well now.” Steve looked up when the door to the room open and smiled again. “And here he is. He’s probably going to be a bit groggy when he wakes up, but he’ll be fine. Don’t be concerned about the bandage. I had to stitch up the gash in his forehead, and he had another on the back of his head from whatever he bounced off of during the fall.”

Dean watched his brother’s gurney be wheeled in and tried not to panic at the sight of the bandages wrapped around the top half of his head. His face was pale, and Dean didn’t like all the wires coming out of the top of the gown they’d put him in. “You’re sure? He’s gonna be ok?”

“Positive,” Steve assured him and left Dean to make a check of Sam once they had his bed and the monitors in place.

Dean listened to the doctor calmly giving instructions while he checked over his little brother and took comfort in the clearly relaxed set of the man’s shoulders. He looked down at his knee again, and his first thought as he looked at the bandage and the brace wrapped around his leg from thigh to calf was he wished they hadn’t cut up the leg of his jeans; he liked that pair. “How long ‘til we can walk outta here?”

Steve came back with surprise on his face and shook his head. “I want you both here for a couple of days at least, Dean, so get comfortable. Now, the painkiller we gave you while you were out is probably going to wear off in the next couple of hours.” He picked up a silver button attached to a cord and handed it to the man with a smile. “Morphine button. Press it when you need it. The nurse will be in every half hour to check on you both, and I’ll be back in the morning to see how you’re doing.”

Dean let his head drop back to the pillow and nodded. “Right. You’re not gonna stick around and make sure he’s ok when he wakes up?”

Steve smiled. “We already had him awake once. He was fairly lucid if sleepy. He’s fine.” He patted Dean’s shoulder and went to leave. “Oh!” Steve turned at the door and smiled again. “The nurse is going to bring the paperwork in when she comes back. Just fill out the information and insurance and the like and try to get some rest.”

“Thanks, doc,” Dean said and waved his good arm as the door finally closed and left them alone. He blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Well, hell.” Now he knew he had to get them both out before he had to provide proof of insurance. They didn’t have any just then. He rolled his eyes at himself with the thought that dad would kick his ass for being unprepared like that. Dean eased himself up slowly. He groaned as his shoulder protested the movement with a dull throb of pain, shrugged, and pressed the morphine button twice with a smirk. “Should keep me movin’ ‘til we’re outta here.” He listened to the machine beside his bed hiss, and a moment later felt the drug surge into his system. He smiled again and plucked the IV line out of the back of his hand with his teeth and tossed it aside. “Ok, Sammy.”

Dean swung his right leg carefully over the side of the bed, thankful for the brace that kept him from moving his knee. He stared down at the floor and his not-so-little brother and groaned. “Aw, this is gonna suck. Sam!” He eased to the floor and hopped a little drunkenly across the open space to his brother’s bed. Dean leaned heavily next to his brother and turned Sam’s head gently toward him. Now that the blood had been cleaned away, he could see that Sam was sporting two black eyes and chuckled. “Sammy.” Dean tapped his brother’s cheek and grinned as Sam’s eyes slowly blinked open. “Wake up, Rocky.”

Sam frowned in confusion and blinked until Dean became clear in his vision. “Rocky?”

“You look like a raccoon, dude.” Dean chuckled. “M’callin’ you Rocky from now on or you know, for a while. Tonight… maybe tomorr… Hey! We gotta get movin’! Get up.”

Sam frowned harder and put a hand up to his head as he stared at his big brother’s goofy smile. “Dean? Are you high?”

Dean nodded and snorted. “I am flyin’ with queen morphine.”

“Oh my, God,” Sam groaned and then laughed. He pushed up slowly and closed his eyes when he felt the hideous headache banging through his skull. “Crap.”

“Doc said you tried to crack your melon open.” Dean slapped Sam’s shoulder, oblivious to his brother’s grunt of pain and waved his lone arm. “Come on! We gotta shag ash… shag… we gotta boogie before they find out we don’t have insurance.”

Sam shook his head slowly with a smile and sat up. “Well, clearly I’m driving this time.” He reached an arm over to the monitor next to him and flicked it off before tugging electrodes from under his gown and then IV from his arm. Sam looked over at Dean as his big brother wobbled and raised a brow. “What about you?”

“Dishlocated shoulder and knee.” Dean shrugged his good shoulder. “They fixed me.” He pointed to the silver button lying in the middle of his empty bed. “Ga’me the good shtuff.”

“No kidding?” Sam laughed softly and swung his legs off the bed. He stood cautiously next to his brother and smiled when the floor stayed where it was supposed to. He hooked over a chair sitting between their beds with a foot and gave Dean a gentle nudge. “Sit while I go find a wheelchair for you.”

“What? No way. I can walk.” Dean growled, took a step on his right leg and would have gone down if not for Sam’s quick hands under his good arm.

“Sit down and murder Survivor or something for a few minutes,” Sam said with a chuckle as he eased Dean down into the chair.

Dean slapped at Sam’s hip as his brother walked away and missed. “I sing awesome.”

Sam snorted in disbelief and went to the door. He stepped out in the empty hall as Dean started singing about tigers and chuckled softly. He got lucky and found a wheelchair at the end of the hall and pushed it quickly back to their room. Dean was still humming to himself, and Sam smiled as he pushed the door closed. “Don’t suppose you know what they did with my clothes?”

“Nope,” Dean said cheerfully and held out his good arm. “Come on. Ge’me in that thing.”

Sam ignored him and poked around the room, in the bathroom and then the little cupboard on the wall. He smiled when he found his jeans, Dean’s leather jacket and his own, but they must have cut his shirts off him. “Hang on. I’m not busting out of here in this thing.” He pulled his jeans on quickly under the gown and pulled it off, slipping his jacket over his bare arms. He tugged his sneakers out of the bottom and sat on the floor to pull them on, not trusting his balance just yet to balance on one foot. He stood back up, swaying slightly as his head swam at the sudden change.

“No fallin’ over,” Dean said and used his good arm to lever himself up out of the chair. “Le’s go.”

“Impatient much?” Sam rolled his eyes and took the arm Dean threw out at him. “Ok, easy.” He lowered Dean down into the chair, being careful of his braced leg. He pulled Dean’s jacket and boots out of the cupboard and tossed them in his lap. “Ok. No singing until we’re out of here.”

Dean snorted, chuckled and had to work to keep the singing to himself. Sam pushed him out into the hall and Dean snorted again. “Sure hope you know where we’re goin’. I got no clue.”

“Shuddup,” Sam hissed and smirked. “You suck at the whole stealth thing when you’re drugged.” He heard voices talking at one end of the hall and quickly aimed them toward the other. Lucky for them, Dean had chosen the clinic and not the major hospital or they’d have had a much harder time getting out without being seen. As it was, they passed no one before Sam found an exit and pushed Dean out into a dimly lit parking lot. He grinned when he looked up and spotted the Impala parked at the corner of the long building. “Nice.”

“Dude!” Dean threw his good arm out and glared at the clinic. “They drove mah baby? Not cool!”

Sam laughed as he pushed his brother toward the sleek, black car. “Left it parked in front of the doors, didn’t you?”

“Well, SOMEone decided to pass out in the backsheat.” Dean rolled a glare up at his brother. “S’your fault.”

“Uh huh.” Sam wheeled Dean up to the car and pulled open the back door. “In you go.” Getting his doped-up brother into the backseat turned into a comedy of Sam growling and Dean snickering when he grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair below the bandages to keep from over tipping. “Ow! Knock it off!” He slapped Dean’s hand away and leaned out of the car while Dean continued to chuckle, stretched across the backseat. He got Dean’s trailing foot into the car and closed the door then just leaned against the Impala for a moment. “Oh, this is gonna be a fun night,” he groaned and got behind the wheel, glad to see whoever had moved her had left the keys in the ignition.

Dean was singing something by Kansas completely off-tune by the time Sam pulled into their motel and parked next to their room. His head was pounding, and he knew from experience he had a few days of headaches ahead of him while the concussion healed. Dean’s singing was not helping. He turned off the car, got out, and left Dean singing to himself in the backseat while he went and got the door open and lights on.

Sam went back out to the car and snorted. Dean had the back door open and was hanging out, slapping a hand onto the parking lot. “Dude, you’re ridiculous.”

“Your face is rid… ridiculous.” Dean chuckled and let Sam do most of the work extracting him from the back seat.

“Looking forward to when this crap wears off in a couple hours,” Sam said with a groan as Dean nearly threw him off balance on their way to the room. He deposited his drugged big brother on the near bed and put his legs up on the bed. “Go to sleep or something.”

Dean shifted around until he found a comfortable position and looked down at his braced leg again. “They cut my jeans, dude. Look’it that.” He scowled and looked up when Sam laughed. “Liked these jeans.”

Sam shook his head and pointed a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

“Not a dog,” Dean complained as Sam went back out to the car, but he did stay. He had no interest in moving and closed his eyes to feel the bed gently spinning beneath him with a smile.

Sam came back in with their bags and kicked the door closed. He pulled Dean’s up onto the dresser and took out the first-aid kit, digging for their stash of painkillers. He’d need them to manage the pain in his head if he was going to get any sleep, not to mention if his brother was going to keep humming until the morphine wore off. “Sleep, Dean.”

“Am sleepin’.” Dean chuckled and didn’t bother to open his eyes when he felt Sam flip his blanket half over him. “Yer’ a lousy nurse.” He cracked one eye to watch Sam heading for the bathroom and snorted. “No boobs.”

Sam filled a cup with water and took two pills before shucking his jacket and going back out. “If I smother you in your sleep, no one will blame me.”

Dean chuckled again and closed his eyes, settling happily into the bed when he heard Sam flop onto his own. There were worse ways to end a job than banged up and high, he decided, and Dean laughed as he hummed Metallica and Sam gave a long-suffering groan. Yep. Life did not suck.

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_The End._

**Next Up:** Shee1


	16. For Shee1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Shee1 - have the boys in the middle of a hunt with mother nature working against them, a blizzard popping up. you could definitely do damage to sam there. THEN after surviving (so to speak) they try to get out of the area (before or after hunt is completed your choice) they get caught in avalanche...more hurt sammy. somewhere in story dean has to build stretcher to get our poor unfortunate sammy out of there. toss in an amnesiac Sam in the process. And you know me, the more you hurt, torture, maim, make sick poor Sammy the better. Also, scared, worried, angst, caring, and comforting Dean 
> 
> A/N: Oh no. Not a prompt that gives me carte blanche to hurt poor Sam. Whatever will I do? …MWAHAHAHA ahem. Right. :P Also, writing this one as we’re being buried under a snowstorm here. HA! Perfect timing. Set vaguely in Season 2. Just because. :D

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Snow swirled thickly through the air, stealing away the world in a blinding cloud of white. Dean blinked furiously to clear his eyes and snapped an arm out to his left where he could hear Sam breathing heavily. His fingers caught the arm of his little brother’s jacket and Dean pulled him closer. It freaked him out a little that, only an arm’s-length away, Sam had been swallowed by the snow. “Stay next to me!” Dean shouted over the wind.

Sam nodded and kept his head down. It was too cold. It shouldn’t have been that cold, nor should there have been that much snow. Sure, they were in the mountains, but it was August. The blizzard had whipped up out of nowhere just after they’d found the frost giant. Sam shook his head at himself as he walked for not realizing the unusual snowfall recorded in the mountains was related to the creature. The moment it had rushed them, he’d realized what it was --not the yeti they had been expecting, but instead a risi or jotunn. They were an ancient breed of frost giant, rarely seen by humans, able to call the snows, and they needed more than bullets to kill it.

“Quit it.” Dean slapped his brother’s arm and gave a smile with chattering teeth when Sam looked over at him. “Not your f-fault, man.”

Sam snorted, amused that his brother had read him so well. That was usually his job. “We need to f-find somewhere to build a f-fire… heat the machete blades.”

“Get a little lower down. More trees.” Dean hunched his shoulders as the snow seemed to grow even heavier and pulled his coat more tightly around him. “We’ll f-find some shelter. Shit, it’s freezing.”

“F’we kill it, the snow’ll stop.” Sam clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering and moved a step closer to Dean as the snow swirled around them, blotting him from sight for a moment. “Dean?” He smiled when his brother’s arm came out of the snow and slapped into him again. Sam caught hold of it and moved behind Dean, trudging along in his footsteps.

“Friggin’ f-frost giant. Holy crap,” Dean groaned loudly and looked up just in time to avoid walking face-first into a tree. “Shit!” He grunted when Sam banged into his back and knocked him into it anyway. “Ow, dammit!”

Sam snorted with amusement and steadied his brother. “Sorry. Can’t see sh-shit.”

“No kidding. Come… come on.” Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him around the tree to the right.

Sam pulled ahead of his brother and put his head down as he broke a path through the thigh-high drifts with his longer legs. “Follow me.”

Dean nodded and smirked, happy to let Sam take the lead for a little while and break atrail. His legs were already frozen through. “Knew your gigantor ass was g-good for something.” Dean chuckled and hunched behind Sam to hide his face from the wind-driven snow for a moment. “Holy crap.”

Sam stomped ahead, bending at the knees to make a path and shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the snow that was beginning to melt with his fading body heat and run down his neck in icy trickles. The snow was refusing to let up, further evidence that, while their bullets may not have killed the frost giant, they had certainly pissed it off. Sam’s legs burned with the effort of breaking through the snow going downhill, and he slowed his pace slightly, trying to shake his legs out between each stomping step. His teeth, even clenched, were chattering in his head, and he reached a hand up to brush over the top of his head and came away with a clump of snow. “Awesome,” he said miserably.   
  
Sam pushed ahead, listening to Dean’s irritated mutters just behind him and threw his arms out as the ground suddenly vanished beneath his right foot. He tried to throw himself backward, but the force he’d been using to break trail worked against him. There was a terrifying moment of weightlessness and then he was falling with a panicked shout. “Dean!” he yelled in warning, and a moment later the air was knocked out of him as he hit the bottom, sank into the high snow and found the solid ground.

“Sammy!” Dean was just close enough to see his little brother drop from sight. He dropped to his knees in the narrow trail Sam had packed and inched ahead until his hands found the edge. “Sam!” Dean leaned over and blinked against the snow as he tried to see Sam, but there was nothing but white. Dean leaned back on his knees and swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. He briefly considered trying to find a way around and down and dismissed it just as quickly. In the white-out, he could pass within a yard of Sam and never see him. “Hope this drop isn’t too tall.” Dean turned and slid over the side on his stomach. He dug his freezing fingers into the snow as he lowered himself down. There was a slight incline, and he let himself go to slide down on his stomach. He figured he’d dropped a good ten feet when his feet hit bottom and he went to his knees. “Crap. Sammy?” Dean turned and saw a dark shape in the snow in front of him that could only be his brother. The drop above them was giving him a small, clear window in the snow and he lurched forward to grab hold of Sam and roll him carefully to his back. “Sam.”

Sam groaned and wanted to fight the return to consciousness, but his brother’s voice was calling and it was ingrained in him to respond. He blinked heavy eyes open and looked up to find Dean blocking the snow from falling in his eyes. “Dean. Wha’… what happened?”

Dean frowned and pulled Sam up a little. “You walked over a drop-off, dude. You don’t remember?”

Sam considered for a moment and had a vague memory of falling but that was all. He shook his head. “Not… n-not really.”

“Ok. Don’t worry about it. You hurt?” Dean let the fact that Sam was awake and talking help settle the fear in his gut as he looked down Sam’s body for blood or other sign of injury.

“I dunno.” Sam moved his arms one at a time and was relieved to not feel more than a twinge from bruised muscles. His head ached, but seeing as he’d been out cold, it only made sense. He shifted his right leg and then his left and choked off a cry while pain shot up into his hip and he jerked up against his big brother.

“Shit!” Dean grabbed hold of him and kept Sam from doubling over himself. “What? What is it?”

“Leg,” Sam said between clenched teeth and held onto one of Dean’s arms with what had to be a painful grip. “Left leg.” He groaned and let his head roll onto his brother’s shoulder while he fought the darkness trying to crawl across his vision.

“Ok. Hang on.” Dean wormed one arm free of his brother and reached down to carefully brush snow from his brother’s left leg. “Can’t see crap. Let go so I can look.”

Sam nodded wordlessly and let himself lay back into the snow. He put an arm over his face to keep the snow out of his eyes and listened to Dean move next to him. “S’broken, isn’t it?”

“Don’t know yet. Relax.” Dean shook out his frozen fingers and bent over Sam’s leg. He looked up into the white out still swirling down on them and shook his head before he bent back and tried to get a look. He felt along cold and snow-stiffened denim until he reached his brother’s knee and Sam didn’t manage to choke off the cry that time. “Crap. Sorry, buddy.” Dean put a hand back on the hilt of his knife and then shook his head. “Alright. We gotta get some shelter and get you warm before I try and look at this.”

Sam shook his head. “Just h-help me up. I can w-walk.”

“Nope; we’re done.” Dean looked around again and nodded. “Gonna stay right here. Good a place as any.” He pulled the pack off his back and set it next to Sam. “Don’t move that leg.”

“F-fine.” Sam laid still and concentrated on managing the pain in his leg while Dean dug supplies out of his pack. He lifted his head when his brother slid the now almost empty pack between him and the snow.

Dean unfolded the tarp he’d strapped to the bottom of his pack and let swing out over his brother. He said a silent thanks to Bobby for all those times he’d drilled it into their heads as kids -- the list of things to never go into the woods without, a tarp among them.

Sam smirked under the green tarp and tugged it down so he could watch Dean through the falling snow. It made him twitch, not being able to get up and help as Dean trudged through the snow, collecting fallen wood from the trees around them and figuring a way to tack the tarp up between the rock wall at their back and the trees nearest it. All the while, Dean’s eyes constantly scanned the white-out around them in case the frost giant made a return. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the pounding headache for a moment. It was centered behind his right ear and told him he must have knocked it against something good and hard.

Dean argued with the snow wet-wood and grinned when it finally lit. “Thank you,” he said gratefully and warmed his frozen hands near the flames for a moment before turning back to his brother. “Ok, Sammy.” He’d created a small shelter that just covered Sam from the snow with the little bonfire burning just outside it. Dean knelt next to Sam’s leg and could see his brother shivering, his whole body trembling with cold, and Sam’s jaw was clenched in a hard line. The tremors had to be driving up the pain in his leg. Dean took his knife out and crawled over Sam’s legs so his brother was between him and the fire. “Still with me?”

Sam nodded once and got his eyes open again. “Y-yeah.”

“Gonna get a look at this leg,” Dean held up the knife so Sam could see and know to keep still before bending over again. He used the blade to carefully slice up the outside of Sam’s jeans, grimacing at the stiff fabric as he tugged it aside and whistled between his teeth when he got to his knee. “Damn, dude.”

“H-how b-bad’s it?” Sam leaned up slowly, wary of his pounding skull to get a look and groaned on seeing his clearly bruised and swollen knee. His hissed a breath out between his teeth and laid back as Dean’s pressed his fingers around his knee.

“Don’t think it’s out of joint,” Dean said as he pushed and prodded. He hated having to hurt Sam but needed to know how bad it was. “Think you just wrenched it. Good news is, the cold’s helping to keep the swelling down.”

Sam gave a weary snort. “Fantastic.” Warmth from the fire began to seep into his right side and he shifted his upper body a little closer to it. The snow continued to fall heavily and wind gusted flurries of the stuff under their small shelter along with the bitter cold.

Dean tugged the first aid kit over and took out a bandage. Wrapping Sam’s knee was the best he could do until they got down off the damn mountain. “You want something to bite on while I do this?” He smiled when Sam shook his head and nodded. “Deep breath.”

“Do it,” Sam sucked in a shuddery breath as Dean lifted his knee slightly and started wrapping the bandage around it. “Crap. Crap.” He slammed his eyes closed as the pain pulsed up his leg.

“Just keep breathin’, Sammy,” Dean soothed as he wrapped the bandage as tightly as he dared around his brother’s knee. With luck, it would keep the swelling down and allow him to limp off the mountain with Dean’s help. He finished and tucked the end of the bandage in and wished he had something to give him to kill the pain. Then again, even if he had, he wouldn’t have given it to him, not with a pissed-off creature out there gunning for them. He let Sam’s leg settle back and wished he had a damn blanket or something to wrap around him. They were both still freezing, even with the fire, and it wasn’t bound to get much better unless the snow and wind stopped.

“Warm up a little here with the fire and then we’ll start down again.” Dean leaned back and looked over at his brother’s head. “Sam?” Sam’s head was tipped over to the side toward the fire and his eyes were closed. Dean reached up and quickly palmed the side of his face, relieved to find that he was simply unconscious again. Dean moved Sam closer to the fire while he was out and it wouldn’t hurt him, and then settled himself near it as well. The fire had the added benefit of giving him a ready weapon if the frost giant returned, fire being the one thing they needed to actually kill it. Dean poked through the small pile of wood and pulled out a long, thin branch that would work. He stripped his jacket off with a body-wide shudder for the cold, took off his flannel and hastily pulled his jacket back on. He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment and all but leaned over the flames, trying to warm himself up even a little.

“Dean?” Sam rolled his head over and saw his brother shaking and hunched over the bonfire and frowned worriedly. “You alright?”

Dean snorted and nodded with a smile. “Just freezin’ all my favorite bits off.”

Sam smirked and watched his brother wrap his flannel in a ball around the end of a branch. “Torch?”

“Yep,” Dean nodded and picked up the bottle of lighter fluid. He opened it and squeezed fluid out over his flannel until it was saturated and set it safely aside from the bonfire. “Frosty the evil snowman shows back up, I’m melting his ass.”

Sam chuckled and put a hand up to his head, rubbing over his forehead for a moment. “Think I’m concussed.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean said with a laugh. “You got a goose egg behind your right ear. I’m surprised you’re not seeing double.”

“No; just hurts.” Sam let his hand drop and rolled slightly toward the fire now that its warmth had started to seep into his side. He was careful to keep his left knee still and pushed up onto his elbows.

“Dude, stay down for a minute,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

“Back’s freezing,” Sam groaned and didn’t mention that his backside was also freezing solid in the snow. He didn’t want to listen to Dean harassing him the rest of the day about being frigid, and he would. His big brother took his right to harass Sam very seriously, no matter the circumstances. Sam smirked and watched the flames dance for a second. He closed his eyes and then snapped them open when he had the inescapable feeling that they were being watched. “Dean.”

Dean stiffened at the tone in Sam’s voice; it was one of warning, and he picked up his handmade torch. “You see it?”

Sam shook his head with a frown. “No. No, but… it’s here.”

Dean stayed on his knees beside the fire with his torch ready and looked out into the driving snow. If Sam said something was out there, he believed him. “Got any preference where it’s comin’ from, psychic boy?”

Sam snorted and shook his head as he pushed up further so he was sitting. He cocked his right leg and reached out to the fire, picking through the branches he could reach for one that might work. He ducked his head against another flurry of wind-driven snow and looked up in time to watch a tall, dark shadow draw out of the snow. “Dean! There!”

“Crap!” Dean shoved the end of his torch through the fire, letting the flames catch and eat into his flannel. He lunged out from under the tarp into the snow and toward the shadow. The frost giant roared angrily as Dean neared, and it reared back in sudden fear. Dean thrust the flaming torch into the creature’s chest before it had a chance to react and grinned as the flames sank into its snow-white hide and began to eat along its chest.

“No!” Sam shouted as the frost giant whipped one, unnaturally long arm out and caught Dean upside the head. It sent his brother sprawling back toward the fire. Sam pulled a flaming branch from the fire and lunged up onto his good leg with a growl of effort. He shoved it into the frost giant’s face and stabbed it in the eye. Sam dropped back to the ground and grabbed hold of Dean, pulling him back toward the shelter of the tarp as the creature screamed. Its voice filled the air and echoed in Sam’s ears as he tried to drag Dean out of its reach. It was dying, but clearly it was not going down without a fight if it could help it.

“Crap,” Dean groaned softly and felt hands pulling on his shoulders. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Sam above him, dragging him back. The frost giant’s dying screams pulled his eyes over in time to watch the flames eat through its body from the inside. There was a burst of orange light, a final piercing howl, and it began to melt down into the snow. He let his head drop back into his brother’s hip with a groan. “That hurt,” he said and brought a hand up to his head. “M’I bleeding?” he asked, feeling something wet running down the side of his face.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He bent over his big brother’s head for a better look. “Sorry,” he said when Dean hissed at Sam’s fingers brushing through the blood. “Think it’s ok.” The cut looked shallow and the amount of blood flowing freely was just the result of a head wound. They always bled worse than other wounds. Sam looked up and realized the blizzard was falling apart around them. The falling snow quickly weakened and looked to be stopping and he smiled. “It’s stopping. We’ll actually be able to…” Sam’s voice broke off as a strange, faint whistle carried through the air. He jerked his head up toward the ridge he’d fallen down. Fear dropped into his gut like a stone as a low rumbling sound came to him. It grew in volume, becoming a roar and he knew what it was. “Oh, God.”

“Sammy?” Dean tried to convince his eyes to open again. The tone in his little brother’s voice was fear and he tried to fight the need to pass out again.

“Avalanche,” Sam whispered. The frost giant’s screams must have set it off as it died, and there were only moments left as the rumble became a roar. He ignored the pain in his left leg, grabbed hold of his brother and pulled furiously to try and get Dean back toward the ridge. It was the only protection they would have. “Come on. Come on!”

Dean knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t get his scattering thoughts to focus. “Sam? Wha’?” There was a roaring sound and he felt the ground beneath him begin to shake. He opened his eyes and looked up blearily as Sam seemed to be shoving him toward the base of the ridge. He grunted when Sam dropped half on his chest and over his head and lost his battle, closing his eyes and passed out again while the world sounded like it was tearing itself apart around him.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

It was the silence that woke Dean. He knew the last thing he’d heard had sounded like a building collapsing, and it was the complete lack of any sound that pulled him back to consciousness. He frowned, feeling the wound on his forehead pull painfully, and slowly convinced his heavy eyes to open. “Sammy?” Dean coughed to clear his throat and realized he was freezing again even as his eyes registered the complete lack of light. “The hell?” Dean fumbled his right hand through what felt like a layer of snow on top of him and dug into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the mag-light he kept there and twisted it on.

“Holy shit!” Dean yelped as the light revealed his worst nightmare. It wasn’t night. The fear in Sam’s voice and the roaring sound he remembered before passing out now made sense. What looked like an avalanche had buried them. He eased up slowly in spite of the pounding in his head and shined the light around the small shelter. It looked two pine trees from the ridge above had been knocked down over on top of them and formed a sort of barrier, keeping the majority of the avalanche from crushing them… them. “Sam!” Dean frantically shone the light and his breath stopped in his lungs when he spotted a booted foot sticking out of the snow. “NO!” He lunged forward and grabbed hold of Sam’s ankle. Dean set the light on the ground and moved up until he could dig snow out around it and get a better grip. He braced his feet on the wall of snow and pulled with a roar of effort.

“Come on!” Dean bellowed and fell back as Sam came free with a rush as his feet began to sink in. His vision threatened to tunnel with the effort, and Dean pushed it back, scrambling up instead to grab hold of his brother and roll him into his lap. “Sam! Come on! Don’t you do this to me!” He put shaking fingers to his brother’s neck and the feel of the unnaturally cold skin did nothing to allay his fears. It took a long moment where Dean’s own heart seemed to pause and wait before he felt the thrum of Sam’s pulse beneath his fingers. His breath punched out of him and Dean hunched over his brother, pulling him in. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered and then felt a faint, warm puff of air against his face as Sam breathed.

“Ok. Ok,” Dean leaned back and grabbed his flashlight. He looked at Sam’s face in the harsh light and didn’t like the way his skin seemed to have turned a translucent white. His little brother was freezing to death, and he damn well wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Dean felt in his back pocket and smiled when he came up with his cell phone. He flipped it open and snarled to see there was no signal. “Awesome.” He shoved his phone away and patted Sam down until he found his brother’s phone in his jacket and took it out. Sam, the techno-nerd, always liked having the latest phone and Dean hoped that would translate to better signal reception, yet as he lifted the phone up, it was clear that the avalanche had cracked the screen in half. “Dammit!” He tossed the broken phone away and looked down at Sam.

“Gotta get you warm and outta here, dude.” Dean eased his brother up so he was sitting against him and pulled at the snow-wet sleeves of Sam’s jacket to get it off of him. Thankfully, his shirts beneath were more or less dry but for a wet swath down his chest. It would have to do. He tossed the jacket aside and pulled Sam in against him, rubbing his hands briskly up and down his arms to try and encourage some blood flow, trying to ignore the bone-chilling cold seeping through his own body. “Warm you up a little… dig us outta here.” Dean groaned as he looked around their dimly-lit, white prison and rolled his eyes. “Somehow.”

Dean stilled when he felt a tremor run through his brother’s body and tipped him back a little, supporting his head. “Sammy?” He watched Sam’s eyes shift beneath his closed lids and sighed when he didn’t wake. “Alright. You, uh… you stay asleep. Probably better that way anyway.” Dean eased him back to the ground and then looked around again, trying to decide on the best way to dig a way out. Dean shook his head and changed his mind about leaving Sam where he was. He slid his hands under his brother’s shoulders again and pulled him back until he was lying mostly under one of the fallen trees. It was the safest place to be in case Dean’s efforts to get them out ended up collapsing part of their impromptu shelter.

“Wish I had a damn shovel,” Dean grumbled. He ran a hand over his face, dislodging drying blood with a grimace and then smiled. He took hold of one of the limbs of the pine trees and snapped it free before moving to the other side of their little cave. He stabbed the branch up into the snow and hoped they weren’t more than a few feet down because sooner or later, breathing was going to become a problem.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean sat back with a thump and put his fingers in his mouth to try and warm them. He had a pile of snow in front of him and didn’t seem to be any closer to finding daylight or fresh air. His head was beginning to swim and he crawled over to his little brother. “Hey, Sammy.” Dean sat with his back to the ridge and tugged Sam’s upper body off the snow and into his lap with a weary sigh. “Good news is, we’re not gonna freeze to death in here.” Dean snorted and wiped sweat off his face. Snow made a damn good insulator. Sam stirred again and this time Dean saw his eyes begin to flicker. He lifted him up higher, propping Sam’s head in his elbow and gave his face a couple light taps. “Sammy?”

“Mmf,” Sam moaned softly and fought to open his eyes. Confusion swirled through his mind as he felt there was something he was forgetting. He remembered the hunt. He remembered Dean and the frost giant… and snow. Sam lurched up with a cry. “Avalanche!”

“Whoa! Take it easy!” Dean chuckled and caught Sam before he could topple away. “Yeah. Little late, dude. I got the memo.” He pointed a hand up and watched Sam’s eyes widen with the realization that they were trapped. Sam collapsed back into him suddenly with a stuttered groan and wrapped his arms around his chest. “Sam?”

“Sh-shit. Ribs… my back.” Sam slammed his eyes closed on a wave of pain. He’d thought nothing would hurt worse than his wrenched knee. He’d been wrong as he wheezed for breath through a chest that suddenly didn’t seem to want to cooperate with deep breaths.

Dean propped him up against his bent knee and frowned. “Broken?”

“I dunno. Maybe.” Sam cracked his eyes open again with difficulty. “Don’t really remember what happened.” He looked around the snow den again worriedly. “We get out… out of here?”

“I’m working on it,” Dean said grimly and started to shift out from behind his brother. “Not sure how deep it is but we should probably not talk too much.”

“Shit,” Sam whispered and nodded. If the snow was thick enough, they’d run out of air eventually. He gritted his teeth to hold back the pained grunts as Dean moved out from behind him and tried to lean him back against the cold, rock wall. Dean suddenly froze still half behind him, holding him up and Sam heard a noise. It was a peculiar sort of grunting sound and it was coming closer from above them and to their left. “Is that… someone digging?”

“Or something,” Dean said darkly and was relieved to find his gun still at his back.

“Frost giant?” Sam asked and looked up as snow began to sift down a feet in front of them.

Dean shook his head. “Dead.” He raised his gun toward the roof of the little snow cave and scowled. “No one else knew we were up here. I don’t like this.”

Sam nodded and wished he had a weapon of his own. “Where’s…” he stopped and had to cough to clear his throat. “Where’s the bag?”

“Under the snow somewhere probably.” Dean tensed as more snow fell and a light spot grew as sunlight began to reach their den. It came more quickly as the sounds grew closer and he blinked reflexively as the first hole appeared and a ray of sunlight blinded him. He kept the gun trained on the opening in spite of that. A welcome draft of crisp, clean air filtered into the confined space, and Dean felt his head clear of the fuzziness that had been slowly overtaking him as he realized just how low their oxygen supply had become. The hole grew wider, and he saw a dark shape above it until finally his eyes adjusted and his hand tightened on his gun. “What the hell is that?”

Sam blinked to clear his eyes from the unaccustomed bright sunlight and he stared. “Wow. Dean. No.” He put a hand over Dean’s and tried to lower the gun, but his brother resisted as the small, vaguely man-like creature dropped down into the open space in front of them. It was small and covered in white fur with large, wide feet and a long beard. It watched them nervously with small, black eyes that fixed on Dean’s gun. “He’s a barbegazi. It’s ok.”

“A Barbie’s what?” Dean spared a surprised glance for his brother. “What makes you think I shouldn’t kill it?”

“Because he dug us out.” Sam continued to push on Dean’s gun, trying to lower it. “They’re not dangerous.” He smiled at the barbegazi when Dean’s hand finally lowered slightly. “They surf avalanches on those big feet.”

“Dude, seriously?” Dean couldn’t help the grin as he eyed the short creature and its hugely oversized feet.

“Yeah, and they’re kind of known for… well… digging out people buried in their territory.” Sam’s eyes widened. “The whistle. I heard this weird… whistle. Made me look up. It was him.” The barbegazi nodded his head furiously at that and a peculiar sort of smile split its face over the beard.

“Well, hell.” Dean rolled his eyes with a smile and lowered his gun all the way. “Guess I can’t shoot the… the guy… that saved us. Thanks, little dude.”

The barbegazi ducked his head a couple times in a nod and then scrambled easily back out the hole and out of sight. “Wow.” Sam smiled and let his head fall back wearily as the pain returned to sap his strength along with the cold wind now blowing inside.

“How do you even know about those things?” Dean asked and finished moving out from behind Sam, letting him settle gently against the stone wall at his back.

“Stanford,” Sam gasped and resisted the urge to hunch over the burning pain in his chest. “Did some skiing and they did, uh… controlled avalanches… to keep the slopes safe?” He glanced over and saw Dean nod and Sam smirked. “Saw one of them. He was just… skiing down the slope like… like it was the Olympics.” Sam chuckled softly. “Did some research. Found out it was harmless and left… left him alone.” He rolled his eyes over at his brother. “Never told you. Knew Da… Dad would wanna jus’ kill… kill it. Crap.”

“Sammy?” Dean grabbed his shoulders as Sam’s eyes slammed closed again and he seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. “Slow and easy, buddy. Come on. Slow and easy.” He looked critically at his little brother in the sunlight filtering down to them and knew there was no way Sam was walking out of here, even with help. He waited until Sam’s breathing had more or less evened out again finally and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m gonna head up top.” He smiled understandingly at his brother before Sam’s Winchester ego could step in. “You ain’t walkin’ out of here, Sammy.” He snorted as Sam’s expression darkened. “Pretty sure my concussed ass shouldn’t even try to carry you.” As he’d expected, Sam’s moment of obstinacy vanished into concern, and Dean resisted the urge to smile in triumph. “Just sit still and I’ll be back, and, uh… no tea parties with Barbie while I’m gone.”

Sam gave a weak snort. “Barbegazi.”

“Gesundheit.” Dean grinned and stood. He had to catch himself on the tree over Sam when he swayed for a moment. “I’m good,” he said quickly when Sam reached a hand up as if to try and steady him. “Don’t you move, dammit.”

Sam gave him a tired flick of his middle finger and let his head rest back against the stone. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

Dean nodded and went to the hole. He dropped onto his hands and knees and crawled cautiously up and out onto the snow above. He blinked several times and gave a low whistle. The entire face of the mountain they’d climbed had changed as far as his eyes could see. The tall pines that had towered on the slope below them were now only peeking up out from beneath the remains of the avalanche. Dean gave himself a mental slap on the back for leaving the Impala at the lodge much further down the mountain where she would have been safe from this. “Wow.” He groaned and got to his feet and stumbled back to his knees when his head swam. “Crap. Pull it together, Winchester,” he admonished himself softly and stood again.   
  
He pulled out his phone again to check for service now that he was no longer buried under a ton of snow, but that apparently had not been the problem. Cursing under his breath, he returned the useless device to his pocket.Dean looked around above them and spotted some crushed trees off to the side, splintered with the force of the avalanche and just what he needed.

The cold ate into Dean’s damp clothes as he worked, climbing through the destroyed trees and trying to find what he needed to build a travois for Sam. He had to stop periodically and just rest his head in his hands. It was painfully obvious he had his own concussion to deal with, though Sam’s was far more worrying for him. He looked at the collection of lengths of wood he had now and leaned wearily against a splintered tree trunk, trying to decide how he was going to lash them together. They had precious little left at this point thanks to the avalanche.

“Dammit,” Dean groaned and rubbed his aching head again. He knew he needed to move, but he was exhausted, dizzy and damn sore. His head jerked up and his gun was in his hand when he heard something crunching through the snow to his left. He spun as he raised the gun, using the tree next to him to keep from wobbling, and his eyes shot wide as the barbegazi moved into view. “What the hell?” Dean watched in surprise as the small creature drew closer with its arms full of something. He lowered his gun grudgingly and waited.

The barbegazi approached and stopped. He looked up at Dean through his snowy beard and dropped his burden to the snow at his feet. The creature gestured to the pile of what Dean realized were vines and then to Dean’s pile of wood before it turned and quickly vanished among the treetops.

“Whoa.” Dean put his gun away with a surprised smile and knelt, gathering the lengths of vine in his arms. “This has got to be a first. A helpful creature.” He made a trip to the hole and left the vines beside it and went back to collect his wood, bringing that back as well. Dean leaned down and could just make out Sam below. “Sammy?”

Sam jerked with the sound of his brother’s voice and opened his eyes. “Y-yeah,” Sam called as loud as he was able and saw Dean’s head shadowed at the top of the hole.

“Little longer,” Dean yelled back. “You stay awake, you hear me?” He saw Sam wave a hand at him and let that be enough for now as he sat back and started constructing the travois.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean looked down at his handiwork and blew out a breath. He was so tired and wished they were anywhere near civilization and a warm bed. Rather than give in to the desire to just lie down and sleep, he put his legs into the hole and slid down into the snow cave once more. “Hey, Sam.” He crawled over to his little brother and put a hand on his shoulder with a frown of concern when he didn’t receive an answer. “Sammy.” Dean gave him a gentle shake and was rewarded when Sam’s eyes popped open. “Time to go.”

Sam nodded slowly but made no move. His body felt heavy and so very cold. His chest and knee had faded to a sort of thrumming pain in the background, and distantly he knew none of those was a good thing, but he couldn’t muster the energy to be truly concerned about it.

“Sam, come on.” Dean eased an arm behind his little brother’s shoulders and put his other hand to the side of his neck. “Shit,” he cursed softly, feeling the clammy, cold skin. Sam had stopped shivering at some point and Dean shook his head. “Ok, really gotta get you outta here. All you have to do is get up there, alright?” He bent and caught Sam’s glassy, blue-green eyes. “You do that for me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can… yeah.” Sam brought his right hand up and clasped it around his brother’s arm weakly.

Dean sighed and thought he’d be dragging Sam up out of there all on his own very shortly. “Let me do most of the work.” He glanced down at Sam’s bad knee and wished there was room to stand up but there was barely enough clearance for him to kneel up straight without banging his head on the fallen trees. “I’m gonna pull and swing you out, ok?” Sam gave him a nod and he started pulling his brother away from the wall.

Sam sucked in a startled breath as his foot caught in the snow and his knee turned. “Dean.” It was little more than a choked whisper but his brother heard it and stopped.

“You gotta slow this down, Sam,” Dean soothed, or tried to over Sam’s hitched breathing. He’d broken out in a sweat and Dean wished it was because his little brother was too warm. “This isn’t gonna get any easier, buddy.”

Sam nodded miserably and turned his head to look up and out into the blue sky visible above. “Just do it.” He gritted his teeth and tried to brace himself as Dean moved quickly and pulled him around.

Dean hated himself a little for causing his brother that much pain, and Sam’s battered body gave into it with an agonized cry just as Dean got him to the bottom of their exit. “Crap.” Dean leaned back on the snowy ramp, settling Sam against his chest and put a hand to his throat. He let his face fall into Sam’s hair for just a second as he felt his heart beating, if a little too quickly. “Ok, buddy. You rest.”

Getting Sam up out of the little snow den was as tiring as Dean had thought it would be, and he was gasping for breath by the time he had Sam out with only his feet still angling down. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned and forced himself to keep moving. He wanted to get Sam strapped into the travois before Dean had to wake him up and check on him. He pulled and tugged his unconscious little brother, rolling him as carefully as he could until he finally had Sam on top of the contraption, and Dean made quick work of using the leftover vines to anchor Sam’s chest to the wooden frame. He carefully straightened out Sam’s left leg and pulled the sliced open leg of his jeans closed as well as he could.

“Ok, Sammy,” Dean stood tiredly and pulled the loop of vine he’d left himself to pull the thing. “Time to shag ass back to civilization.” He grunted as he pulled and turned the travois downhill. “And bacon and coffee. Holy crap, I want coffee.” Dean snorted and started trudging downhill.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke slowly and took a moment to try and orient himself before he opened his eyes. His head hurt as well as his chest and knee, but the pain was distant and a little foggy. It dawned on him then that he didn’t feel like he was freezing anymore and Sam worked to get his heavy eyes open.

“About time you woke up, princess,” Dean grinned as he watched his brother’s expressive face and saw his eyes slowly open in confusion.

“Dean,” Sam said and coughed to clear his dry throat. “Where…”

“Hospital.” Dean grabbed the cup of water from the table beside the bed and held is steady while Sam took it with an unsteady hand and sipped. “They life-flighted your gigantor ass here from the lodge.” He chuckled. “Didn’t think you were gonna fit in that thing,” he said, remembering the small helicopter that had come and the paramedics sliding his brother into the back.

Sam’s eyes widened and he handed the cup back as he started to smile. “You actually flew in a helicopter?”

“Flying friggin death-trap, dude. That thing was the size of a damn matchbox car and I am never doing THAT again!” Dean shook his head. The turbulence they’d encountered at one point had nearly made him throw up all over his brother, which might almost have been worth it, he thought with a smirk.

Sam chuckled and then reached up to tap the small bandage near his brother’s hairline. “You good?”

“Yeah. Couple stitches. No big deal.” Dean shrugged. “You on the other hand, you ain’t walkin’ outta here.”

Sam picked his head up enough to look down his body and stared at his bandage wrapped left knee and his leg, raised up in a sort of sling from the ceiling. “Crap! Is my knee…”

“It’s good,” Dean assured him quickly. “Just wrenched hell out of it. You’re gonna be a gimp for a couple weeks.”

“Awesome.” Sam let his head fall back and put a hand over his chest and the low ache he could feel there.

“Couple bruised ribs, too, front and back.” Dean patted his brother’s shoulder and stood to stretch before dropping into the chair next to his bed. “You’ve got the imprint of a tree across your back.” And it had chilled him to the bone when he’d heard the doctors say how if it had hit just a little higher, it likely would have taken Sam’s head along with it. He looked at his little brother now and let out a long, quiet breath of relief. “So, soon’s you get the all clear, we’re heading to Bobby’s for some down time.”

Sam groaned and smiled. “Please tell him not to make his chili.”

Dean laughed and reached up to slap Sam’s hip. “He’s already cookin’ it up.”

“Oh, man,” Sam groaned with a chuckle and closed his eyes, wondering how he could get out of eating it and avoid the frequent trips to the bathroom it always gave him.

“Go back to sleep, dude. Gonna be another day at least before you’re out of here.” Dean leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet up on the edge of his brother’s bed.   
  
Sam’s eyes fell closed, feeling the exhaustion taking over, but a moment later they opened again and stared at his brother with something that reminded Dean of the awe with which Sam used to watch him when he was just a kid. “What?”   
  
“Dean, how did you – you were hurt, too. And we were freezing. How the hell did you –“   
  
“Dude, did you ever actually doubt me?” Dean rolled his eyes and gave Sam a disbelieving look.

Sam’s eyes slipped closed again, but his lips twitched up in a fond smile. “Never once,” he murmured sleepily.  
  
Dean smiled and put his head back, closing his eyes. He decided to go back up that mountain when it was warmer and leave a bottle of whiskey somewhere for the barbegazi. He chuckled softly to himself. Their lives were weird sometimes.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** LostInDaydreaming


	17. LostInDaydreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LostInDaydreaming - Teen!chester story, just because it's my thing. Sam gets kidnapped by a witch or a coven and it becomes a race against the clock to get him back before it's too late. You have carte blanche with secondary characters (Jon and/or Bobby, Pastor Jim etc..) but of course in the end must be Dean who rescues him! So basically I'm looking for Hurt!Sam and lots and lots of Worried/Protective!Dean. If you feel particularly evil, you could include a scene where Dean thinks it's too late to save his brother....and feelings ensue ;)
> 
> A/N: Sam 14/Dean 18 Ah how I do enjoy p laying with pre-series boys! One witchy Sam-whumpin’ story comin’ right up! :D

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John pulled up in front of their motel room with a satisfied smile. He parked and looked briefly at the business card Adele had given him before tucking it in his glove box. She was certainly one of the more attractive librarians he’d ever seen, sweet with a bit of a naughty grin, and she’d been more helpful than anyone else in the town. If they had a couple days to hang around after the case was finished, he just might give her a call. He climbed down out of his truck and wasn’t surprised when the room door popped open before he reached it to reveal his eldest son.

“Dean? Sammy good?” John asked as he reached the door.

Dean nodded. “He’s being a whiny little princess, but yeah.” He grinned and turned his head in time to duck the bad-tempered pillow thrown at him. “You find anything?”

“Dean won’t give me my damn crutch back!” Sam yelled. His big brother had been trying his patience for over an hour, and Sam sat on his bed now glaring at him. He thumped his casted right leg into the floor and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Language, Sammy.” John chuckled and then reached up to lightly cuff the side of Dean’s head. “Give your brother his crutch back and gear up.”

Dean grinned and ducked down, pulling the missing crutch out from under the bed. He tossed it over to his brother and shrugged. “Just makin’ sure you don’t get bored, Sammy.”

“Jerk,” Sam growled and situated the crutch so he could push himself up. He grabbed the other crutch from where it leaned next to the bathroom door and sighed. “Dad. I could come.”

“Forget it, Sammy,” John said and shook his head. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and stared down the teenage temper glaring back up at him. “I’m not taking you out there with a broken leg. Too dangerous. You’re staying right here where it’s safe and we’ll be back in a few hours.”

“But, Dad…”

“No buts, tiger.” John stepped around him and took the weapons bag Dean handed him. “I got a lead on the witch. We’re gonna go take out her altar and be back here before you have time to worry about it.”

Sam gave a disgusted roll of his eyes. “Too late,” he muttered sullenly. He hated watching his dad and brother go off on a hunt without him. He lived with the never-ending fear that one day they simply wouldn’t come back and he’d be left all alone, never knowing what had happened to them. He sucked in a shaky breath when Dean’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“We’re gonna be fine, Sammy,” Dean said softly and smiled down at his brother, though not as far down as he’d had to last year, and he smirked. Sam was making up for his lack of growth recently. He recognized the look in his little brother’s eyes and gave him a nod. “You know I always come back.”

“Hey!” John protested from the bathroom and came out with a raised brow and the first aid kit.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, and dad too.”

Sam gave a small laugh and nodded. He moved aside so Dean could open the door and forced himself to watch while they loaded the car. “I just wish I could come, you know? I mean, I could stay in the car.”

John walked past his youngest and gave him a serious look. “I think you can occupy yourself while we’re gone. Didn’t Bobby give you that Latin to memorize?”

Sam groaned theatrically. “Aw, come on! Like a demon would even sit still for an exorcism that long.”

“We get back, I expect you to recite it,” John said and tossed his bag out the door to Dean. “Word for word.” He turned away with a smile, knowing Sam was glaring at him and figured that should distract him until they came back.

“Don’t order any porn while I’m gone!” Dean ordered and opened the Impala’s driver’s side door with a shameless grin while Sam flipped him his middle finger.

“Let’s roll, Dean.” John called and climbed into his truck with a last glance at his youngest. He didn’t even bother suggesting they drive together. John loved his truck and preferred it these days and Dean… well Dean was eighteen and in love with the Impala. John chuckled fondly at seeing his own love for the classic car in his eldest, magnified exponentially now that Dean could take off on his own.

Sam watched both cars pull away from the motel in the night and tried not to feel as bereft as he always did when they both went off to put their lives at risk without him. He waited until the Impala had followed his dad’s truck out of sight and hobbled back inside with a sigh. Sam pushed the door shut behind him and reset his crutches, aiming for the table, because, while it may have been a ploy to distract him, Sam had no doubt his father would actually expect him to have memorized the Latin by the time he returned.

“This sucks,” Sam grumbled as he reached the table. He leaned one crutch against the table and staggered in shock when the door behind him splintered open and into the wall with a crash.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean followed his father through the dense forest and wished his brother was there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his dad to have his back, but he’d grown accustomed to Sam’s steady presence beside him over the last few years, and he missed it now. He missed the way they’d smirk at each other while dad wasn’t looking and the wordless communication that came as easily to them as walking to anyone else. He slowed when his father stopped ahead of him and stopped just at his back. “Dad?”

“Should be up ahead,” John whispered and tapped his son’s shoulder. He flicked his fingers out to the left, smiled at Dean’s nod and watched him peel off to circle around. He was proud of the instinctively brilliant Hunter Dean had become and endlessly frustrated at the way that Sam, regardless of how easily he took to it, fought against the lifestyle. He wished often that Sam could be as content as his older brother and knew he didn’t control his anger with Sam as well as he should. The kid just seemed to have a knack for pushing his buttons, much to John’s dismay.

John took off soundlessly opposite Dean and kept his gun up. Killing a witch wasn’t high on his list -- they were human after all -- but he wasn’t about to risk his life or Dean’s just to keep her alive. He hoped Adele’s information was right and the witch was out here. She had been so sure about the reports of strange lights and sounds being seen in this particular part of the forest that John was sure they’d find their prey here. He slipped sideways between two trees and saw a light flicker a little ways ahead. John smiled dangerously and hoped she wouldn’t put up too much of a fight before they could destroy her altar and, with it, her power.

Dean followed the flickering light through the trees, sure that his father would be coming at it from the other direction. He adjusted his path and moved at an angle so that if they had to come in shooting, he wouldn’t be caught in his dad’s line of fireand walked through the screen of trees. “What the hell?” Dean breathed in surprise and stared at the single, tall torch guttering in the center of the small clearing. He saw his father emerge from the trees on the other side and the same confusion was on his face.

John stared hard at the lone torch as if demanding it explain why it was there, and then his eyes slid across to his eldest son’s as Dean took a few steps closer. “This is wrong,” John whispered and raked his eyes over the clearing and the trees around it. A bad feeling was settling into his gut. He looked down at the overlong grass and saw it a second before Dean’s foot hovered over it. “NO!” John took three steps and leaped past the torch, tackling Dean in the chest and rolled them both backward until they slammed up hard against the base of a tree.

“Dean?” John rolled his son away from him and caught his head in a hand. “You alright?”

“Holy crap, Dad,” Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. “You wanna hug it out, you could just ask next time.”

John snorted and lightly cuffed the back of his son’s head for the smart-ass comment. “Get off me.” He pushed Dean up and stood. “You almost stepped on a trap.” John held Dean back with a hand on his shoulder and moved forward himself with his eyes on the darker patch of grass he’d spotted not a moment too soon.

“What is it?” Dean could just make out what his dad had spotted now that he was looking for it.

John knelt and pulled out his flashlight. He flicked it on and his eyes blew wide as he stood angrily and looked around the clearing with fresh eyes. “Son of a bitch. It’s a landmine.”

“Say what?” Dean took a step back in shock and startled when his father’s hand instantly wrapped tightly in the front of his jacket.

“Don’t. Move.” John growled it softly and made himself loosen his grip. “Not a step. You walk where I walk.”

Dean gave his father a shaky nod. “Yeah. Sure. Yes, sir. Shit, I’m glad we didn’t bring Sam for this one.”

John nodded wordlessly and swept the grass with his flashlight. “A witch who sets a trap with landmines,” he muttered angrily. “That’s a new one.” His nerves sang with tension as he moved one foot at a time. He turned to glance back at the swathe of disturbed grass he and Dean had rolled over and felt his heart thump painfully in his chest as it skipped a beat; there was the tell-tale dark hump of grass right in the middle of their path that said they had missed being blown to pieces by millimeters.

“Dad?” Dean asked worriedly when his father suddenly froze in mid-step.

“Nothing.” John shook his head and opted not tell his son how close they had been. He needed Dean’s head in the game. “Come on.”

Dean followed behind his dad, one step at a time through the grass and back into the trees. Even there, John’s vigilance didn’t falter, and Dean knew his father expected that there were more landmines outside the clearing, that somehow they had simply gotten lucky walking through them coming in. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when his dad finally stopped and turned back toward the clearing they’d left behind. “Are we clear?”

John nodded. “Should be. I don’t think there were any outside of the clearing. Looks like she expected us to walk in there and get blown to pieces. Came damn close, too.” He shook his head with a dark look on his face and gave Dean a nudge back in the direction of the cars. “I’ll come back here after we get the bitch and get rid of those damn things before some kid wanders into them.”

“What kinda lame-ass witch uses landmines? Can’t set up a trap with spell work?” Dean paused and frowned.   “More importantly, how the hell did she know we were even coming?” Dean asked. The tension was finally draining away, leaving anger in its wake that they had nearly died, nearly not made it back to Sam – had nearly left him alone in the world.

“Couldn’t have,” John said darkly. “There’s only one person who knew where we were going tonight. We’re making a stop at the local library before it closes. Adele’s got some explaining to do.” It pissed him off that the woman had managed to escape his ‘bad guy’ radar. He’d let his hormones do the talking and he would be kicking himself for that for a good long time.

Dean checked his watch and picked up the pace. “Better get moving then. Library closes in, like, an hour.” He knew, because Sam had spent a good portion of time there already, and it was stinging his nerves that he’d unknowingly left his little brother alone in a place with a woman who was obviously in league with a witch, if not the one they were hunting herself. He broke into a jog with his dad at his side and knew he was likely thinking the same. Adele was about to have a very bad night.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam convinced his gritty eyes to open and wished he hadn’t. He’d been hoping that it would have all been a bad dream, that he’d wake and find he’d fallen asleep on the lumpy bed in the motel. His fuzzy vision showed him that he was in what looked like an unfinished cellar with bare, cobwebbed beams crossing the ceiling over him and a rough, cement floor. He looked down and tried not to shiver at the fact he was tied above a drain built into the floor and what that implied for his future. He groaned in pain with his broken leg tied to the other and strapped to whatever was holding him up; likely one of the support posts for the floor above. His arms were pulled awkwardly behind him and tied tightly as well. Sam turned his head and felt the rough texture of a rope crossing at the base of his throat, not constricting his breathing but clearly there in case he tried to wiggle his way out of his bindings.

“You should still be asleep.”

Sam’s head jerked up at the voice, and he watched the pretty blonde librarian he’d seen many times descend the wooden staircase. “Miss Adele?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand. What’s happening? Did they take you too?” He vaguely remembered two people in masks breaking into the motel room. He thought perhaps he’d put up a fight, hit one of them with a crutch, but he couldn’t be sure. The memory was too hazy after they had struck the back of his head, and now that he thought of it, Sam could feel the itchy, tacky sensation of dried blood on the back of his head and neck. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, Sam,” Adele said softly when she reached the bottom and she smiled sadly. “So sweet. So seemingly innocent.” She patted his cheek once and the smile turned to a grimace of disgust. “Too bad you’re a Hunter.” She grinned when Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh, I know exactly what you are. You, your brother, your father.” She chuckled. “I’m a little disappointed. It was way too easy wrapping him around my finger.”

“Shuddup,” Sam said angrily and jerked in his restraints. “Don’t you talk about my dad!” He sucked in a shocked breath when she slapped him. The blow rocked his head to the side and sent fresh waves of pain crashing through his skull.

“You won’t be so mouthy soon,” Adele assured him and stepped back. She waited for his eyes to find hers again and smiled. “You’re going to be a message. We’re going to leave what’s left of you in front of that motel for other Hunters to find and they’ll know to never infringe on our territory again.”

“We?” Sam asked and jerked his head up when the cellar door opened again and several dark-robed figures began to descend the stairs. His eyes went wide and he dropped his head as he closed them, trying not to think about just how screwed he really was. “Coven. We thought…”

“You thought it was just one witch.” Adele nodded and laughed again. “I know. That’s what made it so delicious sending your father and brother off to die tonight. They had no idea.” She nodded and made a mocking sympathetic noise when Sam’s wide, terrified eyes met hers. “That little forest clearing I sent them to? We littered it with landmines.” Her laughter rang through the cellar as the others of her coven circled Sam. “What better way to kill two men on alert for anything magical than to use something mundane? Oh, I’m sorry, Sam.” Adele reached up and grabbed a handful of his over-long hair, giving it a vicious tug to turn his head to her. “You’re an orphan now, but don’t worry; you won’t have to miss them for long.”

Sam let his head fall when she released him and stared at the drain in the floor beneath him. The sense of loss that swept through him at her words was paralyzing. It stopped the very air in his lungs even as the first, hot tears began to roll down his face. It was his worst nightmare come to life -- his father and brother dead, and him left alone in the world… a world without Dean. Sam hiccupped a sob and didn’t care when he heard the soft laughter around him or the ominous sound of blades being sharpened. Nothing mattered anymore.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean stood beside the Impala and his father’s truck and watched the front of the library. He could see his father through the glass doors at the desk, speaking to a young man and he scowled when his dad turned and stalked angrily back out to him. “Find her?”

“She’s not here,” John snarled and resisted the urge to kick his truck in a fit of temper. “Apparently, she left right after I did. Come on.”

“Where?” Dean pulled open the driver’s door and raised a brow.

“Guy in there says she has a house or a cabin or something on the other side of town just inside the nature preserve.” John gave his eldest a dangerous grin. “We’re gonna go educate her on why you don’t piss off a Winchester.”

Dean chuckled and slid behind the wheel. Ticking off his dad was definitely never a good idea and he figured there’d be one less witch in the world come dawn. He followed his dad out of town and nearly turned off at the road leading to the motel. He didn’t, knowing their dad would kick his ass for the delay and would no doubt lecture him that Sam was old enough to go one night without his big brother’s reassurance.

The paved road turned to dirt and Dean grimaced with each bump to his baby’s undercarriage. “Fine for you, Dad,” he grumbled at his father ahead of him and his ridiculous truck. Dean swept a hand over the steering wheel and grinned, happy dad had opted for the truck and passed the Impala on to someone who could truly appreciate her. He watched his dad pull off the rough road ahead and pulled up behind him.

John climbed down out of his truck and moved back to the Impala as Dean climbed out. “House should be right around the next bend. We’re gonna cut through the forest here and hopefully surprise her.” Dean nodded and went to the trunk to collect his bag and gun. “You’ve got the salt?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he shouldered his bag and closed the trunk. “Yes, Dad. I have the salt.”

John waited for his son to reach him and cuffed the back of his head in response to the sarcasm. “Smart off at me again and you’re doing extra laps tomorrow.” He grinned at Dean’s disgusted snort and headed into the dark forest. It didn’t take long for their eyes to adjust to the moonlight and John was relieved it was out; it would save them having to risk being seen using flashlights.

Dean settled his pack across his shoulders and slowed when lights appeared through the trees ahead. He nodded to his father and they moved apart, going wide toward either corner of the cabin-like house ahead of them. Lights glowed in the curtained windows but Dean couldn’t see anyone moving. He reached the corner and looked along the wall to the front of the house. “Crap,” he whispered and spun, jogging silently and quickly to his father. Dean tapped his shoulder and moved his head in close. “Four cars out front that I can see. She ain’t alone.”

John nodded with his son’s whisper and scowled. “We’ll wait until they leave. Go around the other side and don’t be seen.”

“On it,” Dean gave his father a confident grin and ducked low as he crossed the back of the house again. Hopefully, the witch’s company wouldn’t stay much longer. He didn’t want to spend the whole damn night in a bush waiting. He passed the two short steps up to the back door and froze as a muffled scream came from inside the house. Dean’s heart slammed hard enough to steal his breath because he knew that voice, though it was impossible. He spun back toward his father and saw his dad’s wide eyes staring back at him.

“No,” John said and shook his head. “Can’t be. He’s back at the…”

“Sam!” Dean threw caution to the wind and surged up to the steps to the door.

“Dean! Stop!” John called out but his son ignored him.

“No way in hell,” Dean growled and kicked in the back door. He was through it before it could slam into the wall behind and stalked into an empty kitchen. His brother’s pained cry echoed through the house a second time, and Dean followed it to a door. He pushed it open, hearing his father enter behind him and looked down a flight of rough, wooden stairs. He could hear voices chanting and, above that, the anguished, harsh sobs of his little brother.

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs in a rush and only allowed his mind a moment to catalogue what he was seeing lest it drive him into a murderous rage. His little brother was shirtless and bound to a support beam. His chest and arms were covered in blood and a ring of seven people surrounded him. Dean aimed his gun at Adele where she stood in front of his brother with a knife in her hand. A drop of Sam’s blood slipped from the blade as he watched, and Dean cocked his pistol. “Get away from him, you bitch,” Dean’s voice growled over the chanting and startled the coven into a chorus of gasps.

“D… Dean?” Sam raised his head and blinked and struggled to focus. The relief he felt on hearing and seeing his big brother was enough to make him weak and he sagged even further in his bonds.

Dean shook his head when Adele moved. “Don’t test me,” he snarled at her. “I figure you’re smart enough to know your only chance of walkin’ outta here tonight depends on him.”

Adele looked around at the members of her coven, all of whom were frozen in fear, and she sighed in disgust. “You outnumber him seven to one. Stop being such cowards and GET HIM!”

Dean jerked as she bellowed the last two words. Adele turned back to his brother with the knife and Dean pulled the trigger. He heard two more shots and knew his father was above him on the stairs as he jumped forward before Adele’s body had hit the floor, trusting his dad to have his back.

“The next son of a bitch who moves is going to lose more than a kneecap,” John promised angrily as he descended the stairs with his gun held steady on the four witches still standing. Adele was clearly dead, and John had shot out the knees of two more who, even now, were keening on the floor. He glared down the one woman who saw fit to remain standing when the others went to their knees and cocked his gun, aiming it at her head. “You tortured my son. No second chances.” It was only a monumental act of will that kept him from shooting them all, and at last, she seemed to see the danger in his eyes and knelt beside the others.

“Sammy.” Dean tucked his gun at his back and took his little brother’s head in his hands, lifting it up. “Hey, buddy.” He smiled when Sam blinked his tear-filled eyes open again and ruthlessly held back his own while guilt for leaving his brother alone and vulnerable tried to choke him.

“Dean.” Sam pulled feebly at his restraints, wanting to reach his brother, needing to prove to himself that what he was seeing was real.

“Ok. Take a breath for me.” Dean dropped a hand to the side of Sam’s neck and gave a squeeze. “Gonna get you outta this.” He took out his knife and leaned to look down over his brother’s shoulder, trying to ignore for the moment the numerous cuts and slashes covering Sam’s chest and arms. Dean reached back and easily sliced through the ropes holding Sam’s arms and wrists and grunted when his little brother suddenly threw his arms around his neck and held on tightly. “Hey. Hey. Take it easy. It’s ok, Sammy.”

“You’re alive,” Sam gasped and buried his face in Dean’s neck. For that moment, he didn’t give a damn how much it hurt or how young it made him look to hide in his big brother’s chest. He needed it. “Said you were dead. Said they killed you. You were dead. You were…”

“Whoa. No, Sam. God.” Dean set aside freeing his brother for the moment and wrapped Sam up in a hug as he glanced down at Adele’s body with fresh rage. “We’re not dead. We’re fine. I’m right here, Sammy.” He could feel tears on his neck and it broke his heart as Sam’s blood seeped through his shirts.

“Dean?” John moved closer to his sons now that the remaining witches were on the other side of the cellar. “How bad?”

“That bitch told him we were dead,” Dean said fiercely over his brother’s head.

“Ah, God,” John groaned. He took hold of Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “You hold onto him. I’ll cut him loose.”

Dean nodded and tunneled a hand into his brother’s ridiculous hair to offer him comfort as he trembled. “I got him.” His little brother barely fit under his chin anymore. The kid was growing like a weed and almost matched Dean in height, but somehow, at that moment, Sam felt like the small child he used to be as he clung desperately to his big brother. Dean knew he should push him away and do a damage assessment, but he knew that Sam needed to hold on to him more.

John took out his own knife and knelt behind his son, all while keeping his gun steadily on the witches. They were wisely cowered in the corner as he worked to cut the rough ropes still holding Sam’s legs to the post. He grimaced at the blood staining his boy’s cast as he freed both legs and sent a fresh glare of death at the women, pleased when some of them whimpered and huddled even further away. “Alright.” John stood and nodded when Dean easily caught his brother’s weight against him and held him up. He spotted an elaborate altar and a thick, black book sitting atop it on the other side of the cellar and moved around behind Dean. “I’m gonna torch that altar and then we’re getting out of here. You got him for a minute?”

“We’re good,” Dean assured his father and felt Sam nod into his neck. He kept his balance carefully while his dad pulled the salt and lighter fluid out of the pack still strapped to his back and rubbed Sam’s. “How you doin’?”

Sam sniffed back a fresh round of tears but didn’t loosen his hold on Dean. “M’alright.” He picked his head up a little, enough to see over Dean’s shoulder, and saw one of the witches moving as his father turned away. Sam pulled one arm free and shoved it down his brother’s back to where he knew the gun was. He pulled Dean’s gun free and aimed it at the witch with a shaking hand as Dean jerked in surprise. “Don’t… don’t m-move.”

John spun back and stared in surprise at his youngest holding a gun out around his big brother’s back and smiled in pride. “Sammy?”

“Good. I’m good. I got it. Go, Dad.” Sam worked to steady his arm and kept his eyes on the witch.

“They move. You shoot ‘em, Sam,” Dean said firmly and held on tighter to his brother. It made him itch not to turn around and take the gun himself, but he trusted Sam, even in his current condition, to have both their backs and to tell Dean if he couldn’t.

John spent a heartbeat studying his boys -- strong, independent, brave – and, not for the first time, didn’t think he was worthy of either of them. He turned away and went to the altar. He didn’t bother cataloguing the contents and instead reached out and flipped open the book, the witch’s grimoire. It was their roadmap to spells, poisons, magical objects, and, above all, their connection to the demonic. He popped open the lighter fluid and made sure to saturate the pages of the book before he emptied the rest of the bottle over the table and its other contents. John poured salt on the book and over the table and then pulled out his lighter. He lit it and dropped it onto the book with a grim smile, stepping back as it burst into flames.

“NO!”

John spun back as one of the witches screamed, and before he could raise his own weapon, Sam had fired. She dropped to the floor in a sobbing heap with her hands clamped around her bleeding knee, and John smiled as he strode back to his sons. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam lowered the gun now his father was back and went back to holding onto his brother. “Yes, sir. Can we go now?”

“Yeah, we can, tiger.” John pulled Dean’s gun from Sam’s hand and tucked it into his belt. “Dean?”

“I got him,” Dean said firmly. “Alright, princess.” He leaned Sam back enough to see his face and smiled. “Going up.” He didn’t give his brother time to argue that he could walk. Dean bent and scooped Sam’s legs up with his arm and widened his stance to not overbalance. Sam weighed more than he should with the cast, but Dean would manage. He would always manage.

Sam wanted to complain about being carried, but he closed his mouth and wound his arms around Dean’s neck instead, holding himself up higher on his shoulders so he wouldn’t topple them both as Dean began to walk.

John moved between his sons and the witches and covered them while Dean made his slow way up the stairs and away. He waited until he heard Dean’s heavy steps on the floor above and moved back toward the witches. “I want you to understand something. Killing humans is not something we normally do.” He pulled the hammer back on his gun and pointed it at the women. “But you took my son. My son! You tortured him, and he’s fourteen. He’s a child, and the things you did to him…” John stopped and took a deep breath to try and control his rage. “I see nothing but monsters in this room. Make sure I never have to come back.” The threat was clear; if he ever had to return to this town because of them, he was going to kill them. John didn’t wait for a response. He backed to the stairs while the altar burned and left the women there.

Dean let out the breath he’d been holding when his father emerged from the cellar without more gunfire. “We good?”

“Yeah.” John put his gun away and reached out. “I can take him.”

“I got it,” Dean said and turned, heading out the door. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust dad to carry his brother, but he needed to be with Sam right then, needed the reassurance that they had gotten there in time. A few more minutes… Dean shook his head. “Let’s move.”

John snorted softly at Dean’s overprotective streak and followed them outside. “We’ll take a look at him at the car and decide if he needs a hospital.”

Sam shook his head and lifted it to watch his dad walking behind them. “I don’t. I’m ok.” He rolled his eyes wearily at his father’s look of disbelief. “Fine. They cut me up, but it’s not… she wasn’t trying to kill me yet.”

The way Sam’s voice trailed off at the end of that statement made John swallow hard and he nodded. “Alright, Sammy.” He knew Dean was going to be spending the night beside his little brother and making sure the nightmares from this didn’t keep him from sleeping, and John would spend it watching the two of them and thanking whatever might be listening that he still had them both.

Sam slumped over Dean’s shoulder wearily. “Sorry, Dean. Should have been able to fight them off.”

“Shuddup, Sam,” Dean said angrily and shook his head. “This wasn’t your fault. There’s seven of the bitches and you’ve got a busted leg. I shouldn’t have left you alone in that damn motel room.”

“You had a job to do,” Sam insisted, not wanting to hear Dean blame himself. “I never even got to my gun.”

“Both of you stop.” John walked up beside them and patted Dean’s shoulder briefly before resting his hand in Sam’s hair for a moment. “This wasn’t your fault or Dean’s. I did most of the research on this one, Sam. I’m the one who missed there being a whole damn coven. I thought it was just one witch. I blew it.” He raised a hand with a scowl when Sam opened his mouth to protest. “Nuh-uh. You don’t get to argue this one to death with me, Sammy. Not this time. Let it go.”

“He’s pullin’ the ‘dad-card’, dude,” Dean chuckled a little breathlessly as he trudged through the woods with his brother. “You can’t win this one.” To his surprise, Sam gave it up with a small, short laugh and settled back into his arms again. “That’s my boy.” The walk back took longer with Sam’s weight and Dean was flagging by the time the Impala and their father’s truck appeared. The sight gave him a last burst of energy that allowed him to reach the car and keep hold of Sam while his dad pulled the back door open. “In you go, Sammy.”

Sam groaned painfully as he unfolded himself and inched into the car. “Thanks,” he huffed out between groans when his dad came in through the door behind him and slid his hands under his arms to ease him back.

“Let us do the work,” John said softly and settled back on his haunches beside the car so Sam could rest against his chest for a moment. He let his son’s head fall back to his shoulder and listened to Sam gasping for breath.

“Gonna get a look at you, buddy,” Dean said with a look that was more grimace than smile as he eased back so the dome light could illuminate Sam’s bloody chest. “Jesus.”

“How bad is it?” John peered over Sam’s shoulder and steadied Sam’s head when he moaned with Dean’s touch on his chest. “Easy, Sammy. Easy.”

Dean shook his head. “Shallow.” He probed carefully along a few of the deeper cuts and it was painfully clear Adele had only been trying to cause him the most pain possible. She’d been playing with him. “Nothin’ too bad. We stitch him up, he should be fine.” He glanced up at Sam’s pale, sweat-covered face and sighed. “He’s lost a lot of blood though.”

“I’m alright,” Sam said in a hoarse voice and managed a smile as he shivered. “Friggin’ cold though.”

“Sit up for a sec, Sam.” John eased him forward, letting Dean take his brother’s arms to keep him upright. He stood and took of his leather jacket, leaned down and draped it over Sam’s shoulders before he pushed the door closed.

Sam sighed in relief under the warm, familiar weight of the jacket and leaned back against the door. “S’better.”

“It will be.” Dean gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze and took the blanket his dad handed in the door to him; spreading it over Sam to keep him warm. He slipped out of the backseat and spent a minute getting Sam’s broken leg inside the car before closing the door then he turned and leaned against it for a second. “Holy crap, Dad.”

“I know.” John braced a hand on Dean’s neck in a moment of shared fear for what had almost happened. If he’d taken more time at the library or if they had gone back to the motel first… they could have lost Sam. “He’s gonna be fine. Let’s get him back.” He squeezed Dean’s neck a little harder than necessary and waited for his son’s eyes to meet his. “You ever run into a building half-cocked like that again, even for Sam, and I will kick your ass, Ace. You got me?”

Dean gave his father an unrepentant grin and nodded. “Yep.”

John rolled his eyes fondly and stepped away. “Get in the damn car and let’s get him home.”

Dean chuckled and strode around the car. He climbed inside and cranked the heat as he turned it on, then looked in the rearview at Sam’s head behind him. “You good, little brother?”

“I want Oreos,” Sam said with a smirk.

“What?” Dean laughed and shook his head. “No can do, kiddo.”

“I lost a lot of blood. I need the sugar.”

“You don’t need Oreos.”

“Do too.” Sam grinned and closed his eyes, knowing he’d win and get the cookies. Dean was just that easy sometimes.

“Pain in my ass, Sammy.” Dean snorted and pulled out onto the road behind their father. He glanced in the rearview again in time to spot his brother making a point of giving him his best puppy-dog look and slapped a hand over his face. “So not fair. Fine. I’ll get your damn cookies.” He grinned as he drove, listening to Sam’s weary laugh in the backseat and knew he was going to buy two packages of Oreos. It was worth Sam on a sugar high to just have him there. He snorted softly to himself and hoped he wouldn’t be changing his mind about that when his little brother was bouncing off the ceiling at four in the morning with Oreo cookie breath. “Giant pain in my ass.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Up Next:** KKBELVIS


	18. For KKBELVIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For KKBELVIS - Gargoyles attack Bobby's house and pin him and the boys down inside...and of course Sam is hurt badly - and they can't get out because the gargoyles have them surrounded....(It's a prompt I left at the end of my last story...LOL....so dying to read that.)
> 
> A/N: Well how can I resist that! Plus, I get to research Gargoyles as a bonus. LOL This one is set in season 3, for reasons that will become clear later while you’re reading. :D Also, I get to work in your alternate prompt of drowned/wet Sammy, having done my research. Heh. This should be good. :P

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean walked into Bobby’s kitchen in search of a bottle of whiskey and glanced into the living room as he passed. He shook his head at the familiar sight of his little brother and Bobby bent together over a book at the desk looking far too serious, and he knew what they were doing. They were still trying to find a way out of his deal for him. Dean sighed and started poking around the cupboards. There was no way out. He knew that. He just wished he could convince Sam of it, but his brother was determined not to lose him.

“Ain’t no more Hunter’s helper in there, Dean,” Bobby called and raised a brow when Dean came out of the kitchen to look at him. “Little early in the day to be tyin’ one on, don’t you think?”

Dean snorted and nodded to the half-full bottle of whiskey and tumbler on the corner of Bobby’s desk. “Not unless you’re throwin’ stones at glass houses, old man.” Dean had three methods to cope with the mind-numbing fear of spending eternity burning in hell -- drink, women and hunting. Sitting at Bobby’s for a few days left him with exactly one, and he damn well wasn’t going to give it up.

“Watch who you’re callin’ old,” Bobby growled, but he picked up the bottle and held it out with a roll of his eyes.

“We should be doing something,” Dean said and dropped to sit on the old, beaten-up couch. “Something constructive.”

“We are.” Sam sat back and looked up, meeting his brother’s eyes. “You promised I could look.”

Dean raised a hand and smiled. “I’m not arguing.” He took a swig from the whiskey bottle and shrugged. “But you look like hell. You don’t eat enough to keep someone half your size healthy, and I know you ain’t sleeping.” Dean leaned forward and met his brother’s darkening face. “So I’m amending our deal. You can keep looking, but you gotta take care of yourself while you do it.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue that he was just fine but he knew he wasn’t. He was barely sleeping and only eating when Bobby or Dean berated him into it. He closed his mouth and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Dean grinned in victory and raised the bottle to his brother before taking another drink.

“Mother hen,” Sam grumbled under his breath and stood, smiling at the middle finger Dean flipped him. “I’m gonna take a walk. Clear my head.”

Bobby watched Sam leave and then leaned back in his chair to watch Dean. “You know, sometimes I think you don’t wanna find a way outta this mess.”

“If it costs me Sam, then no,” Dean said firmly and stood to lean on Bobby’s desk. “You understand that? The only thing that’s keepin’ me from screamin’ off in a corner somewhere is knowing he’s gonna be alright.” Bobby snorted and Dean waved a hand. “He will be alright, Bobby. He’ll be alive.”

“I ain’t the one needs convincin’, you idjit.” Bobby slapped one of Dean’s elbows. “Stop hangin’ on my desk.”

Dean chuckled and straightened then looked over at the box that had been in the corner of Bobby’s living room for two days. It was covered in shipping labels from at least four different countries, beaten up, and soaked in the rain at some point. It hadn’t been touched since it had been delivered. “You ever gonna open that?”

“Huh? Oh, that.” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Garth sent it on to me. That boy’s even denser than the two of you, and that takes some doin’.”

“Hey!”

Bobby snorted a laugh and waved a hand. “Bring it over. Lord knows what that idiot stumbled on now.” He took the box and set it on his desk. “Last time he sent me one of these, it was a two dollar cheap knock off of a Buddhist charm from Tibet.” Bobby rolled his eyes and used a knife to slit open the top of the box.

Dean laughed and leaned a hip on the desk to get a look. “I gotta meet this guy.”

“You’d punch him in the head after about five minutes,” Bobby said with a laugh and opened the box. He took the letter off the top and opened it. “Find enclosed a… damn I can’t read his lousy handwriting… somethin’ French, somethin’ goo-lay and can I put it somewhere dark and dry. Aw, what the hell is this?” Bobby reached in and pulled wet packing material out of the box and reached in. “Huh.” He brought out a damp, stone bowl with a stone cross over the top of the bowl like it had been carved there. Water dripped from the stone into the box as Bobby scowled down at it.

“What is that thing?” Dean took Garth’s letter and looked at it for himself, but whoever the Hunter was, his handwriting was atrocious. “You gotta get this guy a penmanship class.” He tossed the letter down and rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe I just said that. So what is it? Another two dollar knock off of something?”

“It’s… damn, I’ve never seen one outside a picture.” Bobby turned the heavy bowl over in his hands and then turned it back to study the engraving on the stone cross. “La Gargouille.”

“Gargle what?”

“Gargoyle, you idjit.” Bobby shoved the box off the desk and set the bowl down. “I think this is one of the old stone vessels they used to use to trap gargoyles.”

“Ok, wait.” Dean raised a hand. “Gargoyles, as in… real gargoyles or the drain the rain from your roof variety?”

“One and the same,” Bobby muttered and sat down as he stared at the bowl. “Well, they used to be, I think. Read about ‘em somewhere that after they killed ‘em, they’d mount the heads on buildings to ward off evil. What the hell’s he sendin’ me this for?”

Dean reached over and ran a finger over the damp stone. “Well, dark we can do, but if he wants it somewhere dry…”

“It’s wet,” Bobby said softly and his eyes went wide. “Holy crap! It’s wet! Go find your brother! Now, Dean!”

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean lurched out of the way as Bobby grabbed up the bowl and pushed past him to head for the kitchen. “What’s goin’ on?”

Bobby ran to the oven and cranked it up as high as it would go, opened the door and shoved the bowl inside before slamming it closed. “They’d fill these things with water and it’d act like a lure. It’d draw them in! It’s been wet in that damn box for two days!”

“And?” Dean set the whiskey bottle on the kitchen table and then stilled. “You sayin’ that thing’s been calling any gargoyle in the area right here the whole time?”

“Yes! Go find Sam!” Bobby ran back to the living room and started rooting through shelves. “Need more information. Balls!”

“Shit!” Dean lurched to the door and yanked it open.

“Gun! Take a damn gun! It won’t kill one but it should buy you some time!” Bobby yelled.

Dean pulled his pistol from his back, showed it to Bobby and ran outside. “Sammy!” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and tried to think where his brother might have gone. “Just had to go and get a little ‘air’. Dammit. Sam!” He jogged toward the garage and missed a step at the sudden, sharp sound of gunfire. “SAM!” Dean broke into a run and followed the sounds. They led him past the garage and toward the clearing behind. He burst through the trees and slid to a stop in shock. Sam was on the ground on his back, and a creature twice his size stood with one clawed foot pushing into his chest. Four leathery wings rustled at its back, and its horned snout hovered just above his brother’s face. Sam’s hand and gun fell to the ground as Dean watched, and he realized water was pouring from the creature’s mouth into Sam’s face in a torrent.

“NO!” Dean fired into the beast’s side twice, making it jerk and stagger off of Sam’s chest. He shot again, aiming for the one red eye he could see and the beast roared. Its wings spread wide and rather than fly off, as Dean had expected, it lunged in a blur to the trees and out of sight. “Holy crap. Sammy!” Dean was at his brother’s side in an instant, kneeling in the watery mud next to him. “Sam!” He grabbed Sam’s face and watched in shock as water poured out of his brother’s mouth. He wasn’t breathing and Sam’s eyes were open and glazed.

“No, you don’t! Not again!” Dean pulled Sam up in a rush, pulling his back against his chest. He clasped his hands against his brother’s stomach and pulled in and up roughly over and over. He could feel water rushing out of Sam’s mouth to pour over his hands and kept pushing while panic invaded every space of his being. He couldn’t lose Sam like this, not after selling his soul to save him. “Breathe, Sam! Come on!” There were no more deals to be made. If Sam died here, now… it was over. Dean may as well eat his own gun and put an end to it.

Dean went weak with relief when Sam suddenly coughed and began wheezing for breaths in between watery coughs. “That’s it! Come on, Sammy! Breathe!”

Sam gagged on the foul-tasting water and let Dean’s voice anchor him rather than give in to the darkness still trying to claim him. Pain radiated out through his body from his chest and stomach, and he could feel that he was sopping wet. “De… Dean,” he gasped and forced his eyes open. “Wha’… what happened?”

“What do you remember?” Dean asked as he moved to keep Sam supported upright but still have an arm free for his gun now that his little brother was breathing again.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t… something hit me… why am I wet?”

“Later. We gotta get back in the house. Come on.” Dean got to his knees and pulled one of Sam’s arms over his shoulders. He pulled Sam with him as he stood and stopped his brother from sliding back to the ground. “Help me out here, buddy.”

Sam nodded slowly and got his legs under him. “I think… did I shoot at something?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, you did.” He saw Sam’s pistol lying in a puddle and shook his head. He’d get it later. He turned them both around and started back toward the garage and the house as fast as he dared. He heard a roar off in the trees and tensed as they walked.

“What’s that?” Sam lifted his head at the sound of another roar. “Is there a creature?”

“Yeah. Big bad ass.” Dean spared a glance behind them as they rounded the garage and pulled Sam along faster once they were on the concrete. “I shot it, but I’m pretty sure all I did was piss it off. You can geek with Bobby all you want once we get inside.”

“Kay,” Sam wheezed and started coughing again. His lungs felt like they were full of water, and his chest and stomach were still burning with pain. He couldn’t tell if it was the water or blood running down his skin under his shirts but it was making him twitch. “M’I hurt?”

“Probably.” Dean hitched Sam’s arm higher and picked up the pace when they reached the house. “Bobby!” he shouted and felt relief when the older Hunter banged out onto the porch. “Gimme a hand with him.”

“Balls!” Bobby dashed down the steps and quickly slid under Sam’s other side. He stared in surprise when he felt the boy’s sopping wet clothes and looked at the ashen pallor of his face. “He didn’t…”

“He did. Damn thing was drowning him on dry land,” Dean said darkly as they climbed the steps. “Tell me we’re gonna be safe in the house.”

Bobby nodded. “Yeah, we will. I think.” He shrugged when Dean glared at him over Sam’s lowered head. “What do you want me to say? It’s my first gargoyle!”

“Gargoyle?” Sam pulled his head up as they pulled him inside and all but carried him to the couch. “Really?” He sucked in a pained breath as they eased him down to the cushions. Bending at the waist was suddenly a very bad idea, and he couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped as he tried to arch backward. “Stop… stop!”

“Sam?” Dean looked at his brother’s pain-filled face and frowned. “Crap. Ok, lay him out.” Between him and Bobby, they managed to get Sam lying down on the couch, with one foot braced on the floor and Sam’s shaking hands hovering over his chest.

“Alright, let’s get a look atcha.” Bobby smiled reassuringly and eased Sam’s shirts up. He hissed between his teeth and looked up at Dean. “We gotta get these shirts off.”

“Alright, Sammy. I’m gonna ease you up for just a minute.” Dean waited for his brother’s nod and felt Sam suck in a breath and hold it. He slid his hands under his brother’s shoulders and pushed him up. He felt Sam trembling with the effort and held him steady while Bobby worked his jacket and flannel off first.

“Lay him back, son. I’ll cut the shirt off. It’s a dead loss anyway,” Bobby said as he looked at the blood and water-soaked mess that was Sam’s undershirt. “Easy, Sam,” he soothed as Dean laid him back and patted Sam’s shoulder.

“I’ll grab the first-aid kit.” Dean ran into the kitchen and dragged it out from under the sink. “How bad is it?” he asked as he went back to the couch and knelt next to his brother’s head.

Bobby shook his head and dug through the kit for the scissors. “Clawed him up good.”

“Gargoyle?” Sam asked again and raised his head to look at Bobby. “How’s that… what?”

“You know that box that’s been here for two days?” Dean asked and rolled his eyes. “Some Hunter sent Bobby a bowl that apparently calls gargoyles when it’s wet. It got wet.”

Sam groaned and let his head drop back, shivering as Bobby cut open the front of his shirt. “That… that sucks.” He coughed again and gasped, trying to hunch over his chest with the pain but Dean held his shoulders down until it eased. “Th… thanks.”

“Holy crap,” Dean said softly as he looked at the four, long furrows opened across his brother’s chest and over his stomach. “The damn thing was standing on him when I found them.” He looked over at Bobby with a dark look. “And pouring water out of its mouth and down Sam’s throat. That would have been nice to know.”

Bobby shuddered with how close Sam had come to dying and mentally kicked himself for not checking the damn box when it was delivered. He started cleaning blood from the wounds on Sam’s chest with gauze and met his glazed eyes. “I’m sorry, son. This is my fault.”

Sam shook his head and managed a small smile. “Not. Didn’t know.”

Bobby smiled sadly and bent to his work, as always, touched with Sam’s ability to forgive anyone anything. The boy’s heart was too damn big for his own good. “Just take it easy, Sam. Have you fixed up in no time.”

“How do we gank this thing?” Dean looked out the window over the couch, as if expecting the gargoyle to reappear and itched to go kill it for nearly killing his brother, for making him yet again have to hold onto his little brother’s lifeless body and beg for him to come back. He shook his head at himself and looked down to watch Sam’s jaw clench as he struggled through the pain and very much alive. Sam’s hand came up and curled into the edge of his jacket with a tight, almost desperate grip, and Dean swallowed around the lump of emotion in his throat. He wanted to do what he’d normally do and tease Sam for being a girl but at that moment, he just couldn’t. This had been too close. He let his little brother have the comfort he needed. “Take a breath, Sam.”

Sam shook his head minutely but did what Dean asked. He slowly let out the breath he’d been holding through the pain. It hitched out of his chest and he took a fresh one in, trying not to feel each tug and pull of his over-sensitized skin as Bobby began sewing the gashes closed. He was going to have a pretty new batch of scars after this. “Dean.”

“Right here, dude,” Dean reassured his brother and wondered if Sam even realized how tightly he was holding on to his big brother’s jacket.

“Think I’ve got the house protected for now,” Bobby said softly as he finished closing one gash and started on the next. Sam had lost a lot of blood and shivered from a combination of that and the foul smelling water that soaked his clothes and now Bobby’s couch. “It can’t get in.”

Dean snorted. “And we can’t get out without fighting that thing.” He looked out the window again and groaned. “Hope we got what we need to kill this thing here.”

“I’ll find out when I’m done here.” Bobby started stitching the lowest wound on Sam’s stomach and held his fingers still to avoid causing any more pain when Sam’s other hand slapped into his shoulder on a gasp. “Sorry, kiddo. I know it hurts like hell.”

Sam nodded wearily and made himself let go of Bobby’s shoulder, fisting his hand in the back of the couch instead. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and smiled. “Might come close to breakin’ my record for stitches, dude.”

“That’s not… somethin’ to be… proud of… dumbass.” Sam gave a soft, short laugh.

“Whatever, bitch.” Dean chuckled and ruffled Sam’s hair, making him scowl and effectively helping to keep his mind off the pain. “What’s he at now?”

Bobby snorted fondly. “Forty…” He tied off one stitch and started another. “…five. You know, Sam. You wanna beat your big brother at shit, there’s better things to choose.”

Sam gasped and wheezed, tightening his hold on Dean’s jacket. “Don’t… ow crap… don’t make me laugh!”

“Passing out wouldn’t be a bad idea, Sammy,” Dean said and nodded down at the two wounds Bobby still had to stitch. “Sleep through Bobby’s crooked stitches. Hey!” Dean yelped when Bobby slapped a hand into the side of his head and then grinned.

“I’m the one who taught you how to do this, idjit.” Bobby chuckled. “You know how many Frankensteined oranges I had around this place ‘til you stopped bein’ so ham-handed about it?” He gave Sam a wink. “Sam on the other hand, picked it up in two days flat.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s got girly fingers,” Dean protested weakly but couldn’t stop the laugh at the satisfied look on his little brother’s face. “Shuddup.”

Sam was panting, shivering, sweating, and somewhere between tears and passing out by the time Bobby was finally finished and taping bandages across his chest. Dean looked down at the hand Sam had never loosened from his jacket. His brother’s fingers were white-knuckled and had to hurt. Dean carefully pried Sam’s fingers loose and set his hand down. “Sammy? You with us?” Sam groaned softly and, after a moment, nodded.

Bobby tugged the blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over the young man and sighed. “Probably be better if we got him outta those wet clothes but I don’t wanna move him that much yet.”

“No; let him rest for a bit. He’ll be warm enough in here.” Dean watched his little brother’s head roll toward him and still and smiled, knowing Sam had finally passed out only now that Bobby was done. “Kid always did have lousy timing.”

Bobby cleaned up the bloody rags and tossed them in a pile and looked at Sam’s far too pale face. “Gonna have to keep an eye on him.”

Dean nodded, hearing what Bobby wasn’t saying. Sam had lost a lot of blood, maybe too much, and they still might have to rush him to the hospital. Along with that thought came the fear that they wouldn’t be able to until they dealt with the gargoyle. It could well be lurking outside just waiting for them. “He’ll be fine,” Dean said, and even to himself it sounded more like a plea than a promise.

“We got research to do. No, stay there.” Bobby waved a hand at Dean and stood. He took a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope out of the kit and handed them to Dean. “Every ten minutes.”

“Dammit,” Dean said softly and a little fearfully. He carefully extricated one of Sam’s arms from under the blanket and slid the cuff up to his bicep.

Bobby grabbed a couple pillows from his chair and lifted Sam’s feet, shoving them under and elevating his legs. He settled them as securely as he could and stood back to run a hand through his hair under his cap. “Remind me to send Garth a little love note once we get outta this,” he snarled.

Dean smiled and almost felt bad for the guy, whoever he was. Bobby was not going to be happy about being sent something so dangerous without a word of warning. “You got any juice in the fridge?”

“Sam finished it off this morning. I’ll figure somethin’ out.” Bobby went to his bookcases and dug through the shelves quickly until he found the volumes he wanted. He tossed one on his desk and set the other near Dean on the arm of the couch. “Don’t worry. That one’s in English, not French.”

Dean chuckled as he inflated the cuff on his brother’s arm and shook his head. “He wakes up, I’m givin’ it to Sam.” His smiled faded as he slid the stethoscope into place and turned his wrist to see his watch. As he counted off the too-fast and weak beats of his brother’s heart in his ears, he wondered what it would be like to be a normal person and not have to know how to stitch grievous wounds or monitor someone for hypovolemic shock. Dean shook his head sadly and put his full attention where it needed to be.

Bobby unearthed a couple packets of grape Kool-Aid in his kitchen and smirked. He’d always kept them around for Sam when he was a kid, and it was a habit he’d never grown out of when shopping. He quickly grabbed a pitcher and mixed one of them up, adding an extra half cup of sugar that would probably make Sam gag but would help keep him alive. He brought it into the living room with a cup and set them next to Dean as well. “You gonna stay on the floor?”

“I’m good,” Dean told him and left the stethoscope hanging around his neck as he picked the book up and sat back against the side of the couch beside his brother’s head. “So what do we know?”

Bobby went over to his desk and opened his own book. “Not a lot yet. I put cat’s eye shells at every door and window.” Bobby shrugged and started flipping pages. “That and the salt lines should keep it outside while we figure this out.”

“Should?” Dean looked up at him in surprise. “Not fillin’ me with confidence here, Bobby.”

“Oh, relax. If it could come in and get us, don’t you think it would’a done that by now?”

“Fine. I trust you,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes and then straightened when Sam moaned softly. He put a hand up on his brother’s shoulder to still him when he started to move. “Sammy? Lay still, man.”

Sam opened his heavy eyes and grimaced as he brought a hand up over his chest, only to have it pushed away. “Dean?”

“You’re fine,” Dean assured his brother. “How do you feel?”

Sam swallowed and shook his head. “Dizzy. Want… wan’lay down.”

“Dude, you are laying down.” Dean sat up a little straighter and glanced worriedly at Bobby. “It’s the blood loss, Sam. Just take it easy. You drink a little somethin’ for me?” Sam gave him a slow nod and Dean used his free hand to pour a little of the purple Kool-Aid into a cup.

Sam eyed the glass, took a sip and made a face. “Too sweet.”

“Tough. Drink it.”

“Jerk,” Sam said weakly and glared up at his brother but he took a few more sips before pushing it away. He understood that he needed the sugar but the over-sweet drink wasn’t doing his stomach any favors. He opened his eyes again and frowned. “Gargoyle?”

“How you feel about reading?” Dean asked with a smirk and held up the book Bobby had handed him. It would make a decent distraction to keep his brother awake and hopefully alert.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave a small smile. “Better me… me than you. Gimme.”

Dean pulled a small cushion from the back of the couch and laid it on his brother’s chest, giving him somewhere to prop the book and handed it to him. “I’m only lettin’ you ‘cause you read faster.”

“Uh huh.” Sam chuckled softly before grimacing in pain. He propped the book up so he could see it. His head was still swimming and getting his eyes to focus was proving to be a problem, but he just moved the book a little closer until he could read. “Stop… stop hovering.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”

Sam concentrated on reading, as well as he was able to concentrate anyway. His head continued to do a lazy spin, but he forced his brain to cooperate. It was a testament to how out of it he was that it barely registered when Dean took his left arm and started taking his blood pressure. “I think I found something.”

Dean ignored him in favor of listening to Sam’s heartbeat in his ears again and looked up, catching Bobby’s eyes as he did. Bobby quirked a brow in question. Dean shook his head just slightly and looked back at Sam as worry overtook the older Hunter’s face. “Ok, gimme.” Dean pulled the stethoscope off and took the book from his brother. He traded it for the glass of Kool-Aid. “You drink. I’ll read. Don’t argue with me, Sam. The alternative is a trip to the emergency room, which still may happen.”

Sam sighed but took the cup and picked his head up enough to sip the drink. Dean didn’t have to say anything. He could easily read the concern on his big brother’s face and knew he’d lost enough blood to make him nervous. There was a roar from outside and he jerked up, trying to see out the window only to be pushed back down by his brother.

“Stay,” Dean ordered and leaned up over Sam to look out the big window. He put his free hand back on the handle of his gun as the roar sounded again, and a moment later, the gargoyle dropped into sight. It dropped down and landed on the roof of the Impala with a sickening crunch of metal and scrape of claws that left Dean staring wide-eyed. “Oh, you son of a bitch! Not my damn car!”

Bobby rushed around his desk to see and grabbed Dean’s shoulder when the man snarled angrily. “It’s tryin’ to piss you off. No, you can’t go out and shoot it in the head again. Won’t kill it.”

“Don’t care,” Dean growled, but he refrained from rushing headlong out onto the porch just to empty his clip into the thing on principle.

“Dean. Book.” Sam grabbed a handful of Dean’s shirt above his head and pulled. He was weak and could feel himself growing weaker. They needed to know how to kill the thing.

“Sammy?” Dean reluctantly took his eyes from the gargoyle and squatted next to Sam’s head again. “Ok. Ok. Take it easy.” If anything, Sam was even paler than he had been and panting for breath while Dean watched. He picked up the book and kept one hand resting on Sam’s shoulder as he propped it next to him on the couch and started reading.

“What’d he find?” Bobby asked and kept his eyes on the creature outside. The gargoyle stared in the window at Bobby and gave a coughing roar before it dug its claws into the roof again. Bobby grimaced, glad Dean hadn’t seen that one and leaned closer to the window as the gargoyle dropped to the ground and started pacing off in front of the house. “Think it’s pissed it can’t get in at us.”

“La Garguoille? Gar… gargooly? Friggin’ French crap.” Dean scowled and ignored his brother’s soft chuckle as he read. “Well, this definitely sounds like our friend out there. Uh… said to have been a typical dragon with four bat-like wings, a long neck, and the ability to spout water from its mouth.”

Bobby tugged the book out of Dean’s hand and gave a nod toward Sam, a silent order to take care of him. “Well, these things have been around longer than I thought,” he muttered as he read the entry. “Since around 600 A.D., at least. St. Romanus. I think that name’s etched on that damn bowl. Hang on.”

Dean grabbed his brother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Hey. How about you try breathin’ normal for me for a minute, little brother.” He watched Sam close his eyes and give a weak nod. Dean rested the backs of his fingers against Sam’s neck for a moment, frowning at the cold, clammy skin he found there.

“Dizzy,” Sam whispered and swallowed hard. “Also kind of… kinda maybe wanna throw up.”

“Bobby! Grab the trash can on your way back!” Dean called into the kitchen and looked back down at his brother. “We’ll nail big ugly out there, and then it’s hospital time for you, dude.” Sam nodded again and Dean’s frown deepened at the lack of argument.

“Feel like… can’t catch… my breath.” Sam forced his eyes to crack open and met his brother’s. “That’s not... not so good.”

“Just keep breathin’. You let me worry about the rest. Bobby?” Dean watched the man come back in with the bowl wrapped in a towel as Bobby passed it from hand to hand and a small trashcan tucked under his arm.

“Thing’s hot as hell.” Bobby let Dean pull the trashcan away from him and then set the bowl on his desk and pulled the towel back. “Dry anyway, not that it matters. That thing wants us now. Yeah, that’s it right there.” Bobby pointed to an engraving on the cross atop the bowl. “St. Romanus and… somethin’ else under it.” He grabbed the book and moved around the desk to sit. He glanced up when he heard something heavy bang into the side of the house and shook his head. “Think it’s getting restless.” He set the book next to the one he’d been looking through and frowned. “Says here this saint guy lured the gargoyle out with the bowl, and…”

“What?” Dean asked as Bobby’s voice trailed off. “How’d he nail that thing?”

“A condemned man,” Bobby said softly and looked up at Dean in surprise. “The bowl lures it out, and the condemned man is the only one who can kill it by cutting off the head.”

“Huh.” Dean sat back a little and stared up out the window. “Looks like me havin’ a one-way ticket downstairs is actually a good thing.”

“Don’t,” Sam said suddenly and held on tighter to his brother’s hand. “Don’t say that.”

“Take it easy, Sammy. Sorry.” Dean soothed and waited until Sam settled back again before he looked over at Bobby. “Find me something to chop Cujo’s head off with and let’s do this.”

Bobby nodded and stood. “Once you get the head off, we gotta burn the body too.” He would have liked to take more time to plan this out, but it was clear from the look on Dean’s face and Sam’s labored breathing that they didn’t have the time. Sam needed better medical help than they could provide. “Be back in a minute.”

“Careful. Be careful, Dean.” Sam pulled on his brother’s hand in his urgency to make sure Dean understood. In his mind was the terror of not being able to find a way to save his big brother and losing him ahead of time to some creature that, an hour ago, they hadn’t even known existed. Sam didn’t want to lose a single day he had left, and it choked him.

“Sam, I’m gonna be fine. You know that.” Dean smiled and shrugged. “That bastard’s not gonna know what hit him.” He rested a hand on Sam’s chest above the bandages and blanket. “All you gotta do is keep breathin’ for me, alright? You don’t get to check out on me.”

“Fine… I’ll be fine. Go.” Sam reluctantly let go of his brother’s hand and managed a smile for him as he closed his eyes. “Go gank that thing.”

Dean stood and made himself leave Sam there when Bobby reemerged with a sword in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “Nice.” Dean took the sword and stepped back to give it a practice swing.

“Try not to take your own arm off, idjit,” Bobby said with a smirk and picked the bowl up off the desk, still in its towel. The stone was still uncomfortably warm from its time in the oven. He looked over to the couch and Sam’s pale face and sniffed. “We better hurry.”

Dean strode resolutely away from his brother to the front door and eased it open with Bobby at his back. “How you wanna do this?”

“Well, I’m guessin’ I fill the bowl, and when the gargoyle comes after me, you take its head.” Bobby gave him a lopsided grin and slipped past him out the door. He pulled the top off the bottle of water with his teeth and started down the steps. “Ok, ugly. Time to play.”

Dean hung back in the shadow of the porch while Bobby poured water into the stone bowl over the cross. A faint steam rose up from the bowl from the lingering heat of the oven, and Dean stepped a little closer to the edge of the porch to look out around either side of the house. “You see anything?”

Bobby shook his head and stepped further away from the house. “Bastard’s out here somewhere.” He turned to look out into the salvage yard over the maze of stacked, decrepit cars for any sign of the beast.

Sam lay tensely on the couch in the silence and wished he was capable of being up and out there to help, to have his brother’s back. He rolled his head to look up at the window with blurry eyes and frowned. Dust sifted down past the window once and then again, and he heard the distinct sound of claws scrabbling for purchase. “Oh, no,” Sam gasped. He tried to sit up and couldn’t. His body was no longer in any condition to cooperate with him. Fear for his brother and Bobby gave him the strength to roll just enough to reach up and slap a fist into the window with a bang.

“The hell?” Bobby said in surprise with the sound behind him. He spun and saw Sam’s hand slap into the living room window again. His eyes rose up and widened in surprise. “Dean?” The gargoyle was clinging to the front of his house above the living room window, claws dug into the white siding, and dust sifted down as it moved. He held out a hand when Dean would have moved off the porch, silently telling him to stay there and not give himself away.

Dean snarled softly and hefted the sword as he watched Bobby staring up at the side of the house. The son of a bitch had been trying to sneak up on them, and he felt a surge of pride for his grievously wounded little brother who still found a way to have their backs, even from the couch. “Come on,” he whispered to himself as Bobby backed across the yard toward the wrecks and passed the rear of the Impala. “Take the damn bait.”

Bobby held the stone bowl out so the gargoyle would see it clearly and watched as its muscles tensed and its eyes focused on the glistening stone. “That’s it, you bastard. Put holes in the side o’ my house and see what that gets ya. Come on. Come get the damn bowl already.” Bobby took a breath and readied himself to dodge out of the way if he had to, and then the gargoyle was moving. It leaped from the side of the house, sailed through the air, and landed less than three feet away from Bobby. “Crap!” He dodged to the side, but kept the bowl out toward the creature as he moved.

Dean burst into motion off the porch and ran across the yard. He reached them as the gargoyle stretched its head out toward the bowl. Dean raised the sword up high and swept it down into the beast’s neck. It bit into scaly skin, muscle, and bone and lodged halfway through the neck. “Shit. Shit!” Dean yelped and ducked, somehow keeping his grip on the hilt of the sword when the gargoyle swung toward him with a roar and spewed water in a torrent at his face. He turned his head and ducked, kicking a leg out into the gargoyle’s shoulder. The sword slid free, and Dean staggered away from the fountain while the gargoyle stumbled and went to its knees with its head hanging at an odd angle.

“Dean? You alright, son?” Bobby kept his eyes on the gargoyle, not believing for one second that it was helpless.

“Yeah.” Dean spit foul water from his mouth and wiped off his face. “Man, that is some nasty shit. Keep its attention.” He waited for the gargoyle’s lurid, red eye to turn back toward Bobby and the bowl, and he lunged toward its head again. Dean sliced the sword down into the wound he’d already created and forced the blade to cut through the bone and down with a howl of effort. A strangled shriek of pain was suddenly cut off as the head and neck of the gargoyle separated from its body, and Dean grunted as one of its clawed feet kicked forward and slammed into his hip.

“Dean!” Bobby set the bowl on the ground and ran to him as Dean rolled across the muddy ground and came to a stop. “Dean. How bad is it?”

“Ow,” Dean groaned and rolled to his back. His hip burned with pain, and he brought his head up for a look as Bobby knelt beside him. “I still got both legs?”

Bobby snorted. “Yeah, you’re still pretty. Relax.” He smiled in relief at seeing the shallow gouges left in Dean’s hip from the gargoyle’s claws. “Just glanced off ya’. You’ll be fine. Come on.”

Dean sucked in a pained breath and let Bobby pull him to his feet. He staggered a little as his left hip complained and gritted his teeth until he could stand on it. “Is that it?” Dean asked and limped over to look at the gargoyle.

Bobby nodded and ran a hand under his cap. “Looks like.” He blew out a breath. “You go get that brother of yours in the car. I’ll deal with this and meet you at the ER. Tell ‘em a mountain lion got hold of ya’.”

“Yeah, I know the drill.” Dean smiled, handed Bobby the sword and jogged as well as he could back to the house and his brother. “Sammy?” he called and went quickly into the living room and the couch. “Hey. You still with me, buddy?” Sam was curled on his side facing out into the room and his eyes were closed but he gave a slight nod. “Gonna get you outta here now, alright?”

“D’joo get it?” Sam slurred and got his eyes open. They opened wider when he saw the blood on Dean’s hip. “Dean?”

“Hey, I’m fine. It’s fine. Stop.” Dean caught the shaking hand Sam reached out and pushed it away. “We’re going to a hospital, so you know they’re gonna make me sit still and get it taken care of. Now come on.” Dean flipped the blanket back and gently pulled Sam’s legs down to the floor. He took his shoulders and slowly lifted his brother up until Sam was sitting, leaning head first into his shoulder and panting for breath. “Slow it down a little, Sammy.” Dean grabbed the blanket again and wound it around Sam’s bare shoulders. He was already cold and in shock; keeping Sam warm until they reached the hospital was about all he could do. “Cut that ugly bastard’s head right off.” Dean grinned and stood carefully, bringing Sam with him. “Bobby’s gonna get rid of it while I take you in. All you gotta do is make it to the car. You can do that.”

Sam nodded and held on to his brother as they wove across the living room and outside. It seemed to take forever to get out there, down the porch and to the car and Sam wasn’t sure he was completely conscious anymore by the time he heard the door open and Dean cussing. “Dean?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled and ran his fingers over the dents and deep grooves etched in the roof of his car. “Can’t believe that thing used my baby for a scratching post.”

“Priorities, Dean!” Bobby yelled from where he was dragging the body of the gargoyle out of the yard. “Get yer ass movin’!”

“Nag, nag, nag,” Dean said fondly and eased Sam down into the passenger seat. “You gonna be ok up here or you wanna be in the back?”

Sam shook his head and leaned it back on the seat. “M’good.” He pulled the blanket more tightly around him while Dean shut the door and concentrated on evening out his ragged breathing.

“Ok, Sammy. Have you good as new in no time,” Dean reassured both his brother and himself as he climbed behind the wheel and started the car, turning the heat up as high as it would go to try to keep Sam warm. He tossed a wave to Bobby and pulled out of the salvage yard.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean ducked behind an open door with his crutch and watched as Nurse Rachel stalked down the corridor ahead of him and vanished. He smirked and started moving again. The woman was a drill sergeant and had forbid him from getting out of his bed or going to his brother. Dean snorted, as if that was gonna fly with him. He checked over his shoulder as he moved, happy to see that she hadn’t come back and smiled when he found his brother’s room. Dean opened the door and eased inside, closing it behind him. “Sammy?”

“Dean, you idjit. What in hell are you doin’ outta bed?” Bobby appeared from behind a curtain and rolled his eyes. “Come on then. Should’a known you wouldn’t stay off that leg. Get over here quick before _she_ sees you.”

Dean chuckled and limped around the curtain on his crutch. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he finally saw Sam. “How’s he doin’?”

“Better,” Bobby assured him and let Dean have the chair next to the head of the bed. “They topped him off, got all sorts of fluids pumpin’ into him and drugs.” He smirked. “He’s a little high every time he wakes up, but he’s gonna be fine. Probably bust him outta here in the morning.” He didn’t tell Dean how close the doctors said Sam had come to being too far gone for help. He didn’t need to know that. “I’m gonna go grab a cup of coffee while Nurse Ratchett’s off lookin’ for you.”

Dean laughed softly and reached up to grasp Sam’s shoulder while Bobby left. “Hey, little brother.” He smiled when Sam moaned softly and his head rolled toward the sound of Dean’s voice. “Time to wake up, princess.”

“M’not… not a princess… jerk,” Sam muttered and opened his heavy eyes to glare weakly at his big brother who simply continued to grin at him. “You alright?”

“Got a few stitches and a bruised hip bone or somethin’.” Dean shrugged. “No big deal. I’m a gimp for a few days. Bobby says you’re gonna be fine and we can get you out of here in the morning.”

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. “Good. The nurse… she’s kinda scary.”

Dean laughed and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, she is. I’m half-tempted to throw some holy water on her just to be sure.”

Sam snickered and opened his eyes again. “She’d put you in traction, dude.”

“I can take her,” Dean said firmly and leaned back in the chair, stretching his leg out. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

“Won’t,” Sam said and closed his eyes with a grin. “She finds you.”

“She’s not gettin’ me out of this room. Period.” Dean watched his little brother relax back into the bed with his presence and smiled, determined to make good on that promise no matter what the nurse said. “Got your back, Sammy.”

“I know,” Sam said sleepily and tried to ignore the pang of fear that soon that wouldn’t be the case. He brought a hand up and caught Dean’s arm, rolling to his side and trapping it with him with a soft snuffle as he fell asleep.

“You are such a girl,” Dean said softly and laughed, resigned to having his arm fall asleep. “Good night, little brother.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** SupernaturallyEgocentric


	19. For SupernaturallyEgocentric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For SupernaturallyEgocentric - Bobby being captured by the villain of your choice and the boys rescuing him. I thought maybe it could be Season 6, when Sam has just gotten his soul back. Maybe some angst between him and Bobby over the whole "you tried to kill me thing." Really up to you, though.
> 
> A/N: Ooh one guilty Sam and gunshy Bobby coming up! I haven’t played with that one very often so this will be fun! :D

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam walked slowly toward the garage off the side of Bobby’s house and worked hard to wipe the kicked-puppy look off his face before his brother saw him around the hood of the car. Dean didn’t need to know that Bobby was still uncomfortable around him or that Sam was still kicking himself. How could you ever forgive someone you loved like a son trying to kill you? Sam shook his head. It didn’t matter how many times Dean asserted that it hadn’t been Sam… it was. Sam knew it. Bobby knew it. Dean seemed to be the only one who couldn’t accept the truth.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” Dean said as he stuck his head out from around the hood when he heard Sam’s steps. “You ok?” There were still shadows under his little brother’s eyes he didn’t like, evidence of too many sleepless nights. And really, how did a human body even adjust to having spent a year and a half without sleep, soul or no soul?

“Fine. Yeah.” Sam smiled and shrugged. “I actually feel pretty good. Stop worrying.”

Dean snorted and grabbed a rag to clean off his hands. “Right. So, you’re not out here hidin’ from Bobby again.”

Sam inwardly cursed his big brother’s ability to read him and rolled his eyes. “No, Dean. I’m not hiding from Bobby. He’s fine. He’s just… never mind. Can I help?”

Dean snorted and shook his head, well aware Sam was finding an excuse to not be in the house with the father-figure who was still having trouble looking at him, let alone talking to him. “Yeah, sure. Grab that carb over there and clean it out.”

“No problem.” Sam smiled and pulled his jacket off, tossing it on the bench to roll up his sleeves. He might never admit it to Dean, but he’d learned to enjoy losing himself in an engine… well, losing himself in the Impala’s engine anyway. It had helped him deal with Dean’s loss when he was in Hell and feel like maybe a part of him was still there.

“Hey.” Bobby made both men startle as he came around the side of the garage. He turned his head away from Sam and looked at Dean. “I’m goin’ on a supply run. You need anything?”

“Stripper named Candy?” Dean said with a grin.

“Mature, Dean,” Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. “We could use more coffee.” He chose to try and not see the way Bobby’s shoulders stiffened with the sound of his voice and went back to cleaning the part in his hand instead.

“Better get more sugar and creamer for the princess while you’re at it,” Dean said with a chuckle, but he met Bobby’s eyes steadily in a silent rebuke that the older Hunter couldn’t help but understand.  

Sam stood and his heart broke a little when Bobby instantly backed away a step. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced a smile. “I’m gonna go grab a couple beers. Back in a sec.”

Dean watched his brother leave and waited until he was out of earshot before he threw the wrench he’d been holding across the garage with a clatter. “What the hell, Bobby? Are you tryin’ to set him off? ‘Cause you weren’t there. You didn’t see the damn seizure, and I sure as hell never wanna see another one. It wasn’t him! It wasn’t our Sam that tried to carve out your heart. Stop kickin’ him for it!”

Bobby glared at Dean and worked to rein in his temper. “I understand that Sam has his soul back, and that’s all fine and dandy, but it don’t change the fact that some part o’ that boy was just peachy with shufflin’ off my mortal coil, so forgive me if I need to have a little Jerry Springer time over this one!”

“Are you done?” Dean demanded angrily. “Because he doesn’t remember, Bobby. He CAN’T remember! Not ever! And knowin’ what he almost did to you, thanks to Cas… it’s killin’ him. He can’t just leave it alone, so you have to. You gotta put this away!” He threw his arms up in the air and paced a few steps before coming back. “You helped me raise him, Bobby. It’s still Sammy and right now he needs us. He doesn’t even know how much.”

“You think I don’t remember?” Bobby kicked the leg of the nearest table. “I do, and that’s what makes it hurt so damn much. Just… I gotta deal with this in my own time, Dean. Leave it be.”

Dean watched him walk away and growled. “Son of a bitch.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to look calm by the time Sam returned with the beers.

“What’d you do to Bobby?” Sam asked and held out one of the beers. “He looked pissed.”

“Bobby always looks pissed. Thanks.” Dean took a healthy swallow of the bitter brew and turned back to the engine, about the only thing he had left he could control anymore. “Hand me that wrench, woudja?”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Bobby glared at the road as he drove and fisted his hands around the steering wheel. “Balls,” he growled softly to himself. He knew Dean was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to let go of it -- of the fear and the heartbreak of seeing that boy ready to plunge a knife through his heart. He shook his head and pressed on the gas, urging the beat-up old truck faster away from his home. He needed some distance and time and to not have to flinch every time Sam walked through the damn room.

“You’re a stupid old man,” he told himself and slapped the wheel. Bobby rolled his eyes. “Probably should’a told ‘em where I’m really goin’ while I was at it. Suck it up and let those boys have my back. Dammit.” He turned down a dirt road and pulled the map across his seat to have another look. “Stupid damn bloodsucker settin’ up shop in my town. I don’t think so.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“He’s been gone a while,” Sam said after a look at his watch. He tightened the last bolt on the carburetor and leaned back to let Dean under the hood. “Shouldn’t take this long to go to the store.”

Dean nodded and sighed. “Maybe he got lost in the produce aisle.”

Sam smirked and cleaned off his hands. “I’m gonna see if maybe he came back and we just missed it.”

“Sam…”

“I know, alright? I’m not… it’s fine, Dean.” Sam waved him off and walked away toward the house. He was determined to find a way to allow Bobby to be comfortable with him again. It broke his heart a little more every time the man flinched or turned away from him. The only father he had left could barely stand the sight of him and didn’t trust him, and Sam wasn’t sure how to begin to accept that.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face for patience and closed the Impala’s hood. “Gettin’ too old for this shit,” he grumbled and followed after his brother. He noted that Bobby’s truck was still gone as he caught up to Sam on the porch and looked at his own watch. “Three hours? That ain’t right, even for him. I’m callin’ him.”

Sam nodded and went into the living room. He frowned when he saw Bobby’s laptop out beside a map and leaned over the desk to look. “Dean?” He moved quickly around the other side and his brows rose as he read over the article still on the computer’s screen. “I don’t think he went to the store.”

“He’s not answering. What’ve you got?”

“Vampire.” Sam picked up the map with a red circle drawn on it some ten miles away and handed it to his brother. He tapped the laptop’s screen. “According to what he has here, looks like a vampire’s been killing people just outside Sioux Falls.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean groaned and looked out the window. “Stubborn old bastard went after it himself, didn’t he?”

“He’s been hunting longer than we have, Dean. Bobby can take care of himself,” Sam said surely.

Dean snorted “Yeah, maybe if his head’s in the game, but it ain’t right now. Come on.” His instincts were telling him something was wrong, and no matter what Sam said, he could see the tightening around his brother’s eyes that said he felt the same. “Bring the map.”

“He’ll be alright,” Sam said softly and followed his brother out of the house in a rush.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean handed a machete to his brother, took his own and closed the trunk softy. “House should be on the other side of those trees.”

“I’ll go around back.” Sam gave the machete a swing, nodding at the familiar weight in his hand and gave Dean a smile. “Don’t barge in the front door without me, jerk. Give me five minutes.”

Dean grinned. “Two and a half. You got flamingo legs. Run, and don’t get dead.” He watched his little brother lope off silently into the trees and took a steadying breath as he looked over to the other side of the small clearing where Bobby’s truck sat, disturbingly empty. He shook his head and eased into the trees with that tight feeling in his gut that taunted him with images of Bobby dead. He scowled and pushed them away. They wouldn’t be too late to save the stubborn bastard, not if Dean had anything to say about it.

Sam slid through the trees along the house as quickly as he could toward the back. The windows were boarded up and gave him some security that he wouldn’t be spotted from inside before he could get into position. In his head, the silent count was running down from two and a half minutes. Dean, he knew, wouldn’t give it a second longer before kicking in the front door and raising hell, so Sam needed to be there. The notes that Sam had quickly read on Bobby’s desk suggested that he’d thought it was only one vampire, but there was no way a single vampire gave Bobby trouble.

The steps gave a soft creak as Sam eased up to the back door and tested the knob. It turned easily as the count in his head reached zero and he eased the door open. Sam stepped inside into the dimly lit room. He took a quick look and realized it must take up most of the house, and in the center was a chair and tied to the chair was Bobby.

“Bobby,” Sam whispered and walked further in. There was no sign of anyone else, and more frightening was the complete lack of any sign of his big brother. “Bobby?” Sam asked as he neared the chair and eased around in front of it. Bobby’s head hung low down his chest between his shoulders and he looked to be unconscious. Blood had stained the right shoulder of his shirt, and Sam could see bite marks there, more than one. “Damn.” Sam glanced around the room again and it made him nervous that there seemed to be no one there. He put a hand briefly on Bobby’s shoulder. “Hold on, Bobby,” he whispered.

Sam looked at a door off to the side, shook his head and went for the front of the house. He needed to know where Dean was. He reached the door and opened it cautiously to look outside. There was no sign of his brother. Dread filled him, but he looked back to Bobby and knew what Dean would say; get him out of danger first. Sam closed the door and moved to the one he’d bypassed. He turned the knob and shoved it open in a rush, expecting to find someone there, but the small bedroom was empty as well.

“What the hell?” Sam shook his head and went back to Bobby. He knelt in front of him and started sawing at the ropes binding one of his legs to the chair. Sam stopped when he heard a soft groan and looked up hopefully. “Bobby?” He watched the older Hunter’s eyes slowly blink open and tried not to let it gut him when Bobby flinched back from Sam’s hand on his face. “Hey. Hey. It’s alright. I’m getting you out of here. Just hang on.”

Bobby stared in shock at the top of Sam’s head when he bent and started cutting the rope from his leg. “Wha’… you gotta go. Sam… where’s Dean? Get… get outta here.”

“Not without you,” Sam said firmly and moved to free Bobby’s other leg. “Not leaving you here alone. No way. I know you’d feel safer with Dean right now, but –

“No, dammit,” Bobby gave Sam’s hip a feeble kick with his now freed leg. “Tha’s not it. S’too many. Get out.” He was dizzy with blood loss and blinked furiously to try and clear his vision. He couldn’t stop himself from arching back and away when Sam brought the machete up in front of him, the moment too similar for Bobby’s fogged mind to cope with but he didn’t miss the sudden shine of tears in Sam’s eyes or the hurt he tried to hide.

“Bobby, I’m not… I wouldn’t…” Sam trailed off and shook his head. “Just let me get you of here, alright? How many of them are there?”

“Seven.” It was not Bobby who had spoken.

Sam gasped at the low voice behind him. He saw Bobby’s eyes blow wide in surprise and grunted as he was grabbed from behind and yanked to his feet. Sam groaned as he was turned and saw an open hatch in the floor. That explained why he hadn’t seen anyone inside the house; the bastards had been hiding. Sam swung his right arm and the machete out and up and messily sliced off the head of the vampire stupid enough to come close to him.

“HOLD HIM!” The voice bellowed through the house, and Sam’s arm was wrenched back hard enough to make him yelp with pain as the machete was twisted from his grip. The vampire who had first spoken to him and yelled came forward once Sam was pinned with an arm around his throat and his own twisted painfully behind himand snarled at him. “That’s going to cost you.”

Sam smirked into the angry face. “Six now.” It wasn’t lost on him that, even with the one he’d just killed, that only accounted for five. That meant two more were outside somewhere and gave him a sinking realization as to why his brother had yet to appear.

Bobby grimaced in sympathy when the vampire’s fist slammed into Sam’s stomach, but he felt a burst of pride for the boy mouthing off even under the circumstances. “Leave him alone!” It wasn’t lost on him that Sam could have just left him. He’d had plenty of time to leave Bobby there and go for his brother, wherever the hell Dean was, but Sam had stayed, had refused to leave without him. It drove that little nail of guilt he’d been starting to feel just that much deeper and put painful truth to the fact that the man gasping in front of him was nothing to do with the monster that had tried to kill him.

Sam kicked out at the vampire in front of him, taking one of his knees out, and threw himself forward to pull the two holding him off balance. It worked for a moment. He managed to free an arm and make a grab for his machete in the vampire’s hand, but then the vampires threw finesse aside and tackled him in a pile of bodies to the floor so hard they banged into Bobby’s legs and the chair. He slammed an elbow back and connected with someone’s jaw if the shout was anything to go by. A moment later,it was Sam’s voice filling the house in a pain-filled cry as sharp teeth sliced into the back of his shoulder and he felt the sickening sensation of his blood being sucked out of his body a gulp at a time.

“No!” Bobby shouted. He used the legs Sam had freed to kick the vampire on Sam’s back in the head. He rolled away with a snarl as the remaining three closed on them. Suddenly, the front door of the cabin banged inward and the fury that was Dean Winchester burst into the room. He was bloodied and battered and Bobby saw him take in the scene with a flick of his green eyes before he turned all that righteous rage on the four vampires. “Oh, did you chew on the wrong damn Winchester,” Bobby said with a little, satisfied smile. Sam leaned his back up against his legs and Bobby felt warm blood soaking into the knees of his jeans from the boy’s back. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam said in a breathless voice and looked up at his brother.

Dean gave his machete a swing and grinned. “You’re gonna need a new nest. The two idiots you left out front didn’t do so well. Your turn.” He waded into the vampires and sent one head rolling for the wall with a clean slice, spun and aimed for a second.

Sam watched the head vampire back away from his brother and the bloody carnage Dean was meting out. As the bloodsucker turned to glare at him and Bobby with Sam’s machete in his hand, Sam knew what was going to happen. “No,” he breathed. He gathered his remaining strength as the vampire stalked to them, raising the blade and aiming straight for Bobby still bound helplessly to the chair. Sam surged up and slammed into the vampire’s chest and caught hold of the hand with the machete, twisting as hard as he could to try and free the weapon. Sam grunted in pain with a blow to the back of his shoulder and ignored it. He spared a glance over the man’s shoulder and saw his brother’s eyes find them, and Dean gave Sam a short nod. Sam took a firmer hold on the thing’s arm, slammed his shoulder into the vampire’s chest and dropped to his knees. A moment later, the vampire above him gave a short gasp that cut off in a wet gurgle before he toppled to the floor while his head rolled away and fell down through the trap door. The rest of the vampires lay dead around him and Dean ran to his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean set his machete down and grabbed his brother. “Shit, dude. You alright?”

“I’m good. Bobby.” Sam gave his big brother a push. “Get him loose.”

“Alright. Alright.” Dean eased Sam away from him and stood, picking his machete up once more.

“What took you so long?” Bobby asked gruffly, but it was with relief to see the boy alive.

Dean grinned and sliced the ropes from one of Bobby’s arms. “Got hung up outside for a minute.” He brushed a hand at the front of his shirts. “Most of this ain’t mine. You, on the other hand -- geez, Bobby.” Dean grimaced as he pulled the older man’s collar away from his neck to get a look at the bites. “Weren’t even tryin’ to be neat about it, were they?”

Bobby put his free hand up to his neck and batted Dean’s away. “I’m fine.” He slid off the chair to his knees and grabbed a hold of the shoulder of Sam’s jacket before he could finish tilting over sideways. “Hey, son. Hang on.” He tugged Sam in to his shoulder to keep him sitting upright and shook his head. “Should’a got your ass outta here while you could, stubborn idjit.”

Sam managed a wan smile but didn’t quite manage to get his eyes open. “Woudn’…”

“Yeah, I got that.” Bobby smiled fondly down at him and wondered how he had ever mistaken the fearlessly loyal boy leaning against him for the soulless monster who’d tried to kill him.

“Crap,” Dean groaned as he knelt behind his brother and got a look at the blood staining the back of his jacket. He pulled the collar away from Sam’s neck to get a look and snarled. “Damn near took a chunk out of him. He’s still bleeding. We gotta get this stopped.”

“First aid kit in my truck.” Bobby kept Sam from tipping drunkenly over while Dean took his brother’s face in one hand.

“Sammy? Don’t make me carry you, dude.” Dean smiled when Sam’s eyes pried open to glare weakly at him.

“Can… I can walk… probably,” Sam snorted softly and held up an arm. “Up.”

“How ‘bout you, Bobby?” Dean raised a brow at him.

“I’m alright.” To prove it, Bobby got to his knees and took Sam’s other arm. “I’ve had an hour to get over the worst of the blood loss.” He chuckled and helped Dean get his sasquatch of a little brother unsteadily to his feet.

“Alright. You get him to the door?” Dean asked and nodded when Bobby agreed. “I’ll go grab the Impala and bring it up to the house. Here.” He scooped Sam’s machete from the floor and pressed it into his brother’s hand. “No passin’ out until we’re safe, little brother.”

“Deal.” Sam smiled and watched his brother jog away and outside with blurry eyes.

“Ok, Sam, here we go.” Bobby started them moving and worked to push back his own weakness. He was steadier than Sam, but he’d lost enough blood to make him tired as hell. It was a slow progress across the length of the house and around the bodies of the dead vampires. When they reached the door, Bobby propped Sam up against the frame to give them both a rest and sighed. “Sam… thanks.”

“For what?” Sam asked and looked down at the older man.

Bobby took in the honest confusion on the youngest Winchester’s face and shook his head. “Boy, you beat all. Thanks for savin’ my sorry, stubborn ass.”

Sam’s face crumpled a little and he had to look away and swallow hard. “I’d never leave you, Bobby. I swear.”

“Dammit, Sam. That’s not what I…” Bobby blew out a breath and rolled his eyes at himself. “I’m… I’m sorry, son. I been kickin’ you, and, uh… it ain’t fair.”

“It is.” Sam shook his head to stop Bobby. “I know I don’t… can’t remember it, Bobby but I know what I did, what I tried to… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Wasn’t you, Sam,” Bobby said softly, and for the first time he could finally see it the way it really was. “I figure it’s the same as when Meg was wearin’ you, and… it wasn’t you, not the real you.” He ran a hand through his hair under his ballcap and snorted. “Are we good? ‘Cause I kinda feel like I’m growin’ girl parts here.”

Sam was startled into a watery laugh and he nodded, holding back the tears of relief that threatened to fall. “Yeah, Bobby. We’re good.” His voice was gruff with emotion and he smiled. He watched the Impala rumble into view through the trees and held out an arm. “Come on.”

Bobby caught the arm and pulled before Sam could wobble and unbalance off the step. “Hold yer damn horses. Sheesh.” He steadied Sam and helped him the rest of the way down. “You ain’t the only one light a couple pints.”

Sam snorted and nodded. “I know. Sorry. Here.” He made a grab for Bobby’s shoulder to try and steady him instead and ended up weaving them both off balance as the Impala pulled up beside them.

Dean got out with a laugh and watched them weave into the side of the car. “You two look drunk. Get in before you fall down. I ain’t pickin’ you up.”

“Think he’s grumpy,” Sam snorted and realized he was a little punchy with blood loss as Bobby pulled the passenger door open for him.

Bobby chuckled and nudged Sam down into the seat. He kept a hand on top of his head so Sam didn’t bang it on the door frame and smiled fondly. He closed the door and looked over the roof at Dean. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Bloody nose, mainly. Assholes caught me off guard for a minute,” Dean said honestly and looked closely at the older Hunter. “How about you? You guys… you don’t look pissed anymore.” He grinned when Bobby ducked his head with a curse and climbed in the backseat. “About damn time,” Dean muttered and climbed into the car while relief flowed through him. The tension between his brother and Bobby had been singing through his nerves for days, and it was nice to finally have it gone. He backed the car away from the house and smiled. “Hope you went to the store and got beer before you decided to play blood donor.” He ducked the cuff to the back of his head with a chuckle.

“Smart-ass,” Bobby grumbled. He leaned up and pressed a hand to the back of Sam’s blood-soaked shoulder to try and stop the bleeding when the younger Winchester’s head rolled back to the seat on a low moan. “I gotcha, Sam.” He rolled his eyes at Dean’s cheerful look in the rearview mirror. “Shuddup.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** Amiable Loner


	20. For Amiable Loner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Amiable Loner - Sam and Dean are in some sort of argument, not related to Dean's deal, the apocalypse, Purgatory or anything like that. Just a normal, little things have escalated and two people who spend almost every moment together type of fight. Maybe someone used the last of the toothpaste, or Dean froze Sam's computer or Sam scratched the Impala. Whatever, just little things that have blown out of proportion. Despite this they've got to take out a group of some kind of monster, I'm not picky but make it something they can either just shoot or kill with a knife. This can be in any season and can have any other characters you want (Bobby, Cas, Garth, Charlie, George :)). Sam and Dean, despite their argument, are still fabulous hunters and go in to get the job done. In the middle of the fight one of them starts talking to the other and as they are taking out monsters they're hashing out their issues in a completely macho way and watching each other's backs and not really noticing they're killing the monsters. In the end they kill the last one together, work out their issues and then have a comedic moment where they realize they killed all the monsters and didn't notice. If you include any other characters could you have them make some kind of incredulous remark at the end? I'd like this to be light and fun to write and read.
> 
> A/N: This one is set in early season 2. No particular place, just before the angst began to be hip deep and they still sometimes had fun. I certainly did. Lol

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Bobby rolled his eyes as he followed behind the Impala. The light from each passing street light overhead served to give him a flickering view of Dean and Sam’s exaggerated arm waves as they argued about God only knew what this time. “Idjits.” He pulled his phone out and tried to decide which would be better, then dialed Sam’s number since he was not the one driving. Dean was already so busy gesticulating wildly with one hand that Bobby didn’t completely trust him not to use his other one to answer the phone and steer with his knee to not interrupt his flow. He waited and saw Sam’s arms drop, and a moment later, the younger Winchester answered the phone with a terse ‘what?’

“You two prima donnas wanna button this up before you miss the damn turn off?” Bobby snorted a laugh when he heard Dean curse, saw the Impala’s brake lights flash and heard the tires squeal as Dean worked to not drive past the road. He flipped his phone closed and waited for the sleek black car to make the turn before following behind. Most people enjoyed having a couple weeks off, but to the brothers Winchester, time off sitting on their asses amounted to Chinese water torture after a few days. It didn’t matter that they’d been healing up from matching severe concussions; they were at the limits of their patience with each other, and it had started coming out in spurts of pointless anger over small things.

Bobby chuckled, remembering how Dean had lobbed a book at the back of his brother’s head earlier when he’d found the coffee maker empty. Sam had easily ducked, caught the book, and stalked off muttering about how if he found his big brother’s dirty socks on his bed one more time, he was going to shave Dean in his sleep. “Oh, yeah. Big, badass Hunters arguin’ over who drank all the damn coffee.”

They sped down the forested lane which could only barely be called a road and pulled up in front of the sprawling mausoleum Bobby had scouted the day before. Bobby climbed out of his truck, watching Sam and Dean climb out of the car beside him and quirked a brow. “You boys done?”

“We’re fine,” Sam said shortly and glared over the roof of the car at his brother as he headed for the trunk.

“You don’t touch the damn radio when I’m drivin’, bitch,” Dean snarled and opened the trunk. He bumped Sam’s shoulder and sent him sideways a step.

“You’re such a child, Dean,” Sam shotback angrily and grabbed a machete and his gun from the trunk. He kicked his brother’s shin before walking swiftly away to give a tight smile to Bobby. “Let’s go gank some zombies.” He heard Dean mutter something under his breath and resisted the urge to say anything back when Bobby stared him down.

Bobby stood back and watched the boys stalk side by side to the door and looked up for patience. He’d picked this job out of the three he’d found, figuring it would give them the best shot of working off some aggravation. “Gonna knock ‘em both over the damn head if they don’t work this shit out,” Bobby grumbled under his breath and followed them inside. “Don’t forget someone raised all these bastards!” he shouted as their backs vanished inside the stone wall. “Couple’a distracted numbskulls.”

Inside, the impending danger had yet to cool their tempers as Dean violently kicked open an iron gate blocking their way with a secret wish that, just that once, it could be his little brother’s annoying face. “You first, sunshine.”

“Suck it, Dean.” Sam pushed past his brother into the tomb and clicked his flashlight on to cut through the darkness. “Anytime you want to have a go at growing up, let me know.”

Dean stalked in behind his brother with his own flashlight and saw the first three walking dead shambling toward them. “You think I won’t kick your ass right now?” He swung his machete and lopped the head easily from the first zombie with an angry snarl. It gave him a rush of satisfaction to watch the body crumple to the floor and he moved on to the next. “Should’a kicked it three days ago when you put that scratch…” he stopped and sliced an arm from a zombie reaching for him with a grunt. “…when you DINGED up my CAR!”

“Oh, for…” Sam spun and delivered a hard kick to the creature aiming for him, sending it back in a stumble to the floor. “I did NOT scratch the damn car!”

“So she scratched herself?” Dean beheaded a third zombie and roughly slapped his little brother’s shoulder before moving away again. “That shit didn’t work when you were five!”

Bobby figured his eyes were going to roll back in his head and stay there at some point real soon the way Sam and Dean were still carrying on. He considered wading into the now dozen or so zombies he could see coming out of the damn woodwork and then blew out a breath. “Nope. Just lose my damn head I get anywhere near ‘em now.” Bobby chuckled and leaned against the back wall where he could see the room and any stragglers that might escape his two supremely pissed off boys. The shouting continued, covering everything from Dean leaving the toothpaste tube a mess to Sam’s dietary choices and the resulting flatulence.More insults were hurled while the undead became the truly dead one by one. Every time Bobby thought they were nearly through, a few more would shamble out of the shadows, and he nodded to himself when he heard a soft scrape of a boot on the stone of the entrance. He hefted his machete, turned his head and waited. He was rewarded a moment later when a dark figure appeared and eased slowly into the tomb.

“Gotcha,” Bobby growled and slipped quickly behind the man, wrapping an arm across his neck with his machete held meaningfully close to the artery Bobby could feel jumping under his forearm. “We don’t normally hold with killin’ humans, but I figure you got enough murders on your plate now, no one’ll bat an eye if I drop you. Understand?” The man nodded and Bobby smiled, putting his back to the wall again and keeping his iron grip. “Nice bunch of zombies you almost got left.” He chuckled when the man snarled angrily.

“So you’d be Dennis Albright, then.” Bobby smiled again when the man startled in his grip. “Pretty handy gig workin’ as a coroner. Must give ya’ all kinds of fresh meat for toys.” He looked up into the room when the boy’s voices rose angrily at each other again and snorted, amused. They were still carrying on, seeming to barely be paying attention to what they were doing while taking apart the current crop of walking dead. Bobby couldn’t help but notice, though, that however angry they were or how unfocused they seemed to be on what they were doing, they effortlessly moved in tandem, neither ever leaving the other one’s back unprotected; a lifetime of training kicking in without need for conscious thought.

“I can kill you,” Dennis snarled, or tried to, but it came out as more of a desperate wheeze against the pressure of Bobby’s arm.

Bobby chuckled. “Not damn likely. You get away from me, you gotta answer to those two, and trust me, you do not wanna be in their sights right now.”

“You say shit like that ‘cause you KNOW it’ll piss me off!” Dean shouted and spared a glare for his little brother before kneecapping a zombie on his left. “What? You didn’t get enough ‘me’ time today, princess?”

“No, that is NOT…” Sam stopped and stabbed the nearest zombie in the chest. “…what I meant, you…” he pulled the machete free with a grunt, spun and took its head off cleanly. “…ass!” Sam kicked the severed head into his brother’s knees.

“Oh, real mature, Sammy,” Dean called back. He grabbed the arm of the zombie in front of him and cut it off with a sickening, wet squelch. Dean turned and slapped it into the back of his brother’s head. “Want me to give you a hand with that?”

“Jerk!” Sam knocked the dismembered arm away and grabbed Dean’s instead. He pulled his brother to him and launched a leg past Dean, kicking the chest of the zombie that had been coming up behind him. “How about you stop screwin’ around and pay attention!”

Bobby couldn’t quite stop the laugh. “Idjits. Oh, stop squirmin’,” he grumbled when Dennis tried uselessly to pull away from him. “They’ll get to you when they’re done.”

“Are they stable?” Dennis asked in a tone of disbelief as the two very tall men continued to lay waste to his zombies, all while not losing a beat in hollering insults and perceived grievances at each other. He couldn’t believe how effortlessly they tore apart his undead without seeming to break a sweat and yet seemed so completely distracted being angry at each other at the same time. “They’re crazy aren’t they? You’re gonna let those two nutbars kill me!”

Bobby jerked his arm a little harder under Dennis’ chin. It was a tacit warning that the murdering zombie raiser wasn’t going to get any sympathy from him and rolled his eyes yet again as his boys carried on, though they were finally running out of cold, moving bodies to slice and dice. “They’re workin’ it out.”

Sam bent and chopped the head from the legless zombie in front of him, straightened and turned to watch Dean swing his machete and then punch the head free from the corpse. He turned, seeking another target and his brows went up. “Huh. Dude, I think we ran out of zombies.”

“Already?” Dean aimed his flashlight into the darkest corners of the mausoleum and groaned. “Aw, man! I was just gettin’ on a roll!”

“You two idjits done?” Bobby called.

Dean looked over and looked on in surprise at the man Bobby held in a head lock. The man -- and Dean was sure it was the Dennis Bobby had told them about -- stared at him and his brother with something like shock. “What?” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I got somethin’ on my face?”

“Yeah, your face,” Sam said with roll of his eyes and took the slap Dean aimed at his arm with a snort of laughter. He studied Dennis’ now worried face and quirked a brow at his brother. “Food?”

Dean shrugged and walked closer to the men. “I could eat.”

“Eat? Eat… eat what? Not…” Dennis trailed off fearfully as the two very tall men came closer. “W-what are you gonna do to me?”

Dean grinned. Wading through the small horde of zombies had effectively worked out his frustrations with his little brother and he could tell Sam felt the same by the no longer pinched look around his eyes. He smiled more widely realizing that, though they were both covered in blood and bits of zombie, they were both unharmed. It had actually been kinda fun. “Personally, I’m perfectly happy torchin’ your ass along with your toys here.”

“Dean,” Sam said repressively, before his brother could truly traumatize the man; killer or not.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean sighed and smiled as he hooked a thumb in his brother’s direction. “Lucky for you, he’s a soft touch.”

“I’ll just make a little special delivery to the local P.D., then,” Bobby said with a smile now that his boys were finally acting like grown-ups again. “You two good?”

Sam frowned as if he didn’t understand and glanced over at his brother, who shrugged with a smirk. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Bobby rolled his eyes and gave Dennis a shove forward, letting him stumble until he was wrapped up and held solidly by Sam’s iron grip. “No reason at all.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and quickly cuffed Dennis’ hands behind his back. “You got enough salt and lighter fluid in the trunk for this?”

Dean snorted. “Dude. I got enough back there to burn down two of these places. I want pie.” He told his little brother when Sam released Dennis back to Bobby’s hands.

“You always want pie.” Sam laughed and followed him out of the mausoleum.

“You say that like it’s a problem.” Dean grinned. “It’s pie, Sammy. It’s like a food group.”

Bobby chuckled and forced Dennis to walk ahead of him. He pulled the younger man around and thumped his chest into the side of his truck and then turned him so he could see Sam and Dean at the trunk of the Impala next to them. “I’m gonna drop your sorry ass with the cops, and you’re gonna make sure we never have to come back here and do somethin’ about you, because if we do…” Bobby nodded at the brothers until Dennis looked fearfully back at him. “…I’ll just leave you with them and let ‘em work their family issues out on you instead of your zombies.”

Dennis nodded furiously and could still see how the brothers had sliced and diced their way through his horde of zombies so messily. “Cops. Turn me in. Let’s go.”

“Smart man.” Bobby opened the passenger door of his truck and shoved Dennis up and in. He slammed the door closed and looked over. “You two try not to burn the whole damn cemetery down.”

Sam laughed. “No promises. He’s got the lighter fluid and you know how he is.”

“Hey!” Dean slapped the back of Sam’s head and grinned over at Bobby. “We’ll meet you at that diner on the outside of town.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, knowing exactly the one Dean meant. It had a giant picture of homemade pie in the window. “Idjits,” he muttered fondly and went around his truck to get behind the wheel. He watched the boys shove each other good-naturedly as they vanished inside the mausoleum again and smiled as he started the engine.

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_The End._

**Next Up:** SPNxBookworm


	21. For SPNxBookworm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For SPNxBookworm - a couple months back my english teacher gave us a challenge; 10 completely unrelated words and told us to write a poem, story or anything we liked which included those ten words. Well, how about you attempt the challenge and write a one-shot with those ten words in there? Any season is fine. I'd just like some hurt Sam if possible :) Here are the words: Love, Defeat, Power, Aeroplane, Temple, Ruins, Wind, Needle, God, Moonlight.
> 
> A/N: Well, after two days looking at the words and attempting to plot an actual story, I think we’re just gonna go ‘free-form’ on this one and see where it takes me. Lol Set anywhere in season 1. Janice suggested trying to use them all in order but, though I tried, it just stopped me altogether. XD

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Dean ducked a wayward tree limb as it snapped back from his brother’s passing ahead of him and scowled. “You doin’ that on purpose?” he asked angrily, because he wouldn’t put it past his pain-in-the-ass little brother to be passively trying to annoy him; that’s what little brothers did.

“Doing what on purpose?” Sam looked back and couldn’t stop the slow smirk from spreading over his face when he saw the leaves stuck in his brother’s hair. He snorted a laugh and danced away a few steps before Dean could get a hold of him. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… ok, I did mean the last one, but, honest. Done now.”

“Little shit,” Dean snarled and stalked ahead of his brother to take the lead.

“Maybe next time you won’t put mouthwash in my coffee.” Sam grinned and shrugged when Dean sent him a lethal glare. “Not cool, man, screwing with someone’s coffee. I’m pretty sure I could make a case for that falling under the aegis of the Geneva Convention as cruel and unusual punishment.”

“ **God** , you are such a geek.” Dean laughed in spite of himself and sliced through some of the overgrown swamp with his machete. “You sure we’re actually in the right place?”

Sam snorted. “I’m a geek, remember? I did the research. It’s out here.” He looked around at the dark forest and shook his head. “I’m not sure WHY it’s out here, but it is.”

“You say so, college boy. Friggin’ swamp, forest, mess… DAMN, I hate hiking.” Dean slapped another long branch out of his way with the machete and ignored Sam’s snicker behind him. He pushed through another wall of dense vines and stared when he came out the other side. “Whoa. There’s somethin’ you don’t see every day. What the hell is this?”

Sam emerged from behind his brother and gave a low whistle of appreciation. “It’s a **temple**. Well… the **ruins** of one.”

“Did a bomb go off?” Dean asked as he took in the collapsed walls and vine-choked stones around them. A building built of dark, rough-hewn blocks had once stood tall in the center of the clearing with the mangrove trees towering around it, but most of the structure had collapsed and was busily being reclaimed by the dense swamp around it. “Who even built this mess and how does no one know this is out here?” He kicked a small stone in front of him and watched it fly through the air, ricocheting off the side of the building and into the darkness with a soft splash. “It’s Louisiana, not darkest Peru.”

Sam paced a few steps ahead of his brother with a chuckle and watched as the **wind** shifted the greenery back and forth in the **moonlight**. It layered moving shadows over the stones and the crumbled structure, lending an ominous feel to everything. “Maybe we should come back during the day when we can actually see better, you know?”

Dean considered as he took a step and tripped, stumbling forward a little over a piece of broken masonry. “Yeah, maybe. I suppose this thing ain’t gonna have anyone to munch on just yet.”

“Except us,” Sam said darkly and shrugged when he turned back to see his brother staring at him.

“Why would you say that?” Dean threw his arms out, swinging his pistol toward the trees in exasperation. “That’s like tempting fate! May as well say ‘what else could go wrong?’ you dumbass!”

Sam laughed. “Superstitious much, Dean?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Have you forgotten what we do?” Dean rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “We’re in a swamp, stumblin’ around a damn lost temple or some shit with friggin’ bells around our necks…” Dean stopped and grabbed the leather thong from under his shirt to jingle the small, silver bell at his still-laughing brother. “… looking for some weird ass African dwarf thing that MIGHT be eating hikers, all because our missing dad sent us damn map coordinates and told us to fix it. What about this confuses you, mister ‘I’m not superstitious but I kill evil shit for a living’?”

“Wow.” Sam shook his head and grinned. “Did you practice that? ‘Cause that was impressive. Seriously.” He pulled his laughter under control with effort and raised a hand. “It’s called an Eloko, Dean, and the bells are a protection fetish…” Sam had to stop and roll his own eyes at his brother’s suddenly wide, naughty grin. “Not that kind of fetish, you freak.”

“Shuddup.” Dean kicked another stone and leaned to look into a small, standing pool of water. The moon was reflected in its still surface, and Dean frowned as a shadow crossed over it for just a moment. He looked up and turned his eyes toward his brother. “You see that?”

“See what?” Sam took a few cautious steps toward the ruin and staggered to a stop as the ground beneath him groaned. “Uh… Dean?” He turned his head back to look over his shoulder at his brother with wide eyes.

Instantly aware that something was something was seriously wrong, Dean immediately felt his focus slide into full hunter mode, all snarky banter forgotten in an instant. “What? Sammy, what?” Dean took three long strides toward him and stopped when Sam threw up a hand to warn him off.

“This area’s prone to sinkholes.” Sam looked down at the ground and swallowed hard. “It’s moving. I…”

“Get the hell out of there!” Dean shouted. Sam spun toward him and stretched an arm. Dean reached for him in a rush and felt his little brother’s fingers slide across his own before the ground beneath him caved in with a rumble and went away. Sam fell out of his sight with a cry, and Dean was left grasping at air. “SAM!” He dropped to his knees and had to scramble back a few steps as the edge of the widening hole began to give way. “Shit. Shit!” Dean’s back bumped into the base of the crumbled ruin, and he wasted no time climbing several feet of the sloping side, cursing as some of the blocks turned and shifted under his hands. He stopped and leaned back against the ruin to look down into the sinkhole with a feeling of dread.

The sky was still clear and the moon shone down into the clearing, cutting through the inky blackness below. Dean narrowed his eyes as he eased down a few feet and swallowed hard when he realized he could see Sam’s outstretched and motionlessarm in the silvery light. “Sammy!” Dean moved carefully down to the edge of the sinkhole. The sound of dirt and rocks tumbling filled the night air as Dean eased over the edge to start a slow, controlled slide to the bottom. It was fifteen feet deep at least, and he was grateful that, for the moment, it didn’t appear to be getting any bigger.

“Sammy?” Dean slipped the last few feet into the darkness and grunted, bending at the knees when his feet reached the bottom in a sudden stop. He dropped to his knees and crawled the few feet to his little brother’s arm and took hold of it with fear a cold, hard lump in his throat. He slid his hand up Sam’s arm to his shoulder and let his fingers press into the chilled flesh above his collar, below his jaw. Dean’s breath punched out of him in a groan of relief when he felt the steady thrum under his fingertips.

“Shit, Sam.” Dean settled on his knees and, after spending a few more seconds feeling Sam’s heart beating, he started the process of feeling along his brother’s arms and legs for any obvious signs of injury. Finding nothing, Dean moved on and slid a hand under Sam’s shirt, pressing knowledgeable fingers up and down both sides of his back and smiled when he found no signs of broken ribs. “Ok. That’s good. Doin’ good, Sammy. Now, how about you wake up and we can turn you over, huh? Sam?” Dean bent down near his brother’s face and tapped Sam’s cheek lightly. He desperately needed Sam to wake up and speak. Dean wouldn’t feel better about it until he knew for sure his little brother was alright.

“Come on, little brother. Wakey-wakey.” Dean tapped Sam’s cheek a little harder and was just debating the merits of rolling him over when Sam’s eyes finally crinkled and a soft moan worked its way up out of his mouth as it parted slightly. “Sammy? That’s it. Come on. Open your eyes.”

Sam swam slowly up out of the fog that had been holding on to him with the sound of his brother’s voice. He was tempted to ignore it and slide back into sleep, but there was that particular thread of fear in Dean’s voice that Sam only heard when his big brother was scared for him. He cracked heavy eyes open and realized he was lying on his stomach on the ground with Dean leaned over far enough that Sam could just make out the gleam of his eyes in the moonlight. “Dean?”

“The one and only.” Dean smiled and felt the muscles in his shoulders slowly start to unclench now that Sam was awake. “You feel alright? Think you can roll over if I help?”

Sam scowled and took a moment to try and feel his body. Up until that moment, he’d still been half in that foggy, not-quite-aware place. Now that he was paying attention, he pulled his right arm in to push himself up, and the movement sent a stab of vicious, white-hot pain through him. “Shit!”

“Sammy?” Dean slid a hand under his shoulder and held on while his brother gasped and panted. “Dude, what is it? Where are you hurt? Sam, where?”

“Help,” Sam gasped softly. “Help me… roll over.”

“Dude, no. Not until…”

“Dean.” Sam put every ounce of pleading he could into that word and hoped his brother would understand through it that being on his stomach now was making it hurt worse and that breathing was becoming a problem.

“Damn. Alright. Ok. Here we go.” Dean hated the idea of moving him without knowing exactly what was injured, but Sam didn’t need sentences to tell him that getting off his stomach was important. The desperation in that one word said it all. He smiled softly as he slid his hands under his brother’s shoulder and hip. Sam had never really needed sentences to get much of anything across to him. The kid could look at him and show more **love** and faith in a glance than those crusty old English poets could communicate in a thousand verses. “Here we go, princess. Deep breath if you can.”

Sam gave a short nod, sucked in a ragged breath and then focused on not screaming like the girl Dean often accused him of being as his brother rolled him slowly up and then stopped with Sam propped on his side.

“Shit.” Dean stared down at the dark mess on the front of his brother’s shirt and was actually thankful the moonlight made it look black instead of the red ruin he knew it had to be. “Ok. You’re, uh… you’re fine. It’s gonna be fine. Hang on.” Dean continued shifting his brother until he had him on his back and then grabbed hold of the hand Sam raised, squeezing tightly to give his brother something to anchor himself with. “Breathe, Sammy. Come on. Slow it down.”

“Hurts,” Sam gasped and slammed his eyes closed as he worked to do what Dean was telling him -- slow his breathing from the frantic too-short pulls of air he was getting through the pain.

“I know. Slower, Sam. Come on. Slower,” Dean said and tried to keep his voice calm. He fumbled in his pocket for his flashlight and pulled it out, almost afraid to click it on and see just how bad the damage really was, as if, as long as he didn’t see it, it wouldn’t be anything to worry about. He shook his head at himself and turned it on as he aimed the beam onto his brother’s chest. “Jesus,” he breathed and then clamped his jaw shut in the hopes that Sam hadn’t heard him. “Gimme my hand back for a minute, Sam?” he asked and tried to use a light, teasing voice and knew he didn’t quite pull it off.

Sam nodded once roughly and made himself loosen his grip. “Sorry.”

“Shuddup,” Dean replied gruffly and used his now free hand to ease Sam’s shirts up his chest. The wound, when he saw it, was a roughly shaped, jagged hole just below his ribs on the right side. He frowned and aimed the light where Sam had been lying and blew out a breath when he saw the rock. It was roughly the size of his fist, pointed and had clearly jammed up into his brother when he’d landed.

“How… how bad?” Sam asked softly and tried to lift his head for a look even though it was pounding at him with even the slightest movement.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Dean said quickly with a smile and worked his pack off his shoulders to set it beside him. “Just a scratch. Have you outta here in no time.”

“Liar,” Sam said with a weary attempt at a smile and let his eyes close again.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean dug out the first aid kit and pulled it open, rifling through it for antiseptic and bandages. He frowned when he felt his shirt tugged and looked down to find his brother’s fingers curled in a white-knuckled grip in the bottom of his t-shirt. Any other time and Dean would have teased and called him out on it, but he still wasn’t quite beyond the nightmare of seeing Sam fall into that dark pit. He’d be seeing his brother’s terrified eyes in his dreams for a while to come. Dean gave a soft, fond chuckle and ducked his head so his brother wouldn’t see.

Sam turned his aching head slowly, rolling it over the rough ground to look at the sinkhole around him. He hissed when he felt the first burn of antiseptic being poured in his wound and ground his teeth together to ignore it in favor of studying where he’d landed -- anything to take his mind off the well-meaning torture his brother was performing. He bit his lip through the wound being cleaned, and then narrowed blurry eyes toward the wall of the pit beneath the temple. “Z’at a door?”

“Huh?” Dean looked over at his brother’s pale face in confusion and then followed his brother’s gaze to his other side. He picked up the flashlight and aimed it at the wall and his eyes widened. “Whoa.” A rough stone door stood in the wall. Roots poked out from the earth around it, and Dean looked at their sinkhole with new eyes. “Guess that explains why the ground gave way. There was a room down here and your sasquatch ass was too heavy for the ceiling.”

“Funny.” Sam managed to glare at his brother even through his screaming headache. He brought his free hand up to his head and grimaced when he felt the sizeable lump on his forehead. No wonder my head hurts.”

“Yeah; you got knocked around but good. Hold still.” Dean used butterfly strips to close the hole in Sam’s skin until they could get back to the motel. He wasn’t about to attempt stitching it up in that mess. He taped a bandage over the wound, thankful the bleeding seemed to have stopped and tugged the ruin of Sam’s shirt back down with a grimace for the blood-stiffened cotton. “That’ll have to do for now. How’s the pain?”

Sam groaned. “Like I got… donkey kicked by an elephant.” He smiled ruefully to set his big brother at ease. “So, not bad.”

“Right,” Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Gonna try and sit you up, ok? Let me do the work.”

Sam wanted to argue and do it himself, but between what was probably a concussion and the hole in his gut, he kept his mouth shut, clenched his jaw and let Dean do it. He flushed a little with humiliation when his brother reached down and uncurled Sam’s fingers from his shirt. Sam hadn’t even realized he’d been holding on to the damn thing like a security blanket.

“Alright, ya’ big girl. Stop blushing. Don’t think you’ve got enough blood left in you to spare right now.” Dean chuckled softly and took Sam’s arms. He pulled him carefully up so he was sitting and stopped him from tipping over sideways when he swayed. “Hey, you still with me?”

Sam blew out a couple steadying breaths and nodded as he forced his eyes back open. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” It was taking a supreme effort of will to push back the agony of his wound, and he promised himself he could curl up in a ball and whimper later. For now, they were in a swamp in a sinkhole with a lethal creature potentially somewhere nearby, and injuries would have to wait. “We should check that door. Get me up.”

“Dude. Come on.” Dean shook his head, but Sam was already trying to pull his legs under and Dean scowled. “Stubborn pain in my ass, Sammy. You know that?”

Sam managed a credible nod and took hold of his brother’s forearms as Dean stood and pulled him up with him. “Crap,” Sam moaned when the ground seemed to tilt beneath him, and he wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed by the time he got his eyes open again and realized he was standing with his forehead planted on Dean’s collarbone. “Sorry.”

“I got nowhere to be,” Dean said with a worried smile and eased Sam back a step when he seemed to find his balance. “You good?” Sam gave him a nod and Dean decided to trust him for now. He knelt, grabbed the flashlight and started shoving the first aid supplies back in the bag. The light glinted off the dial of their compass and Dean scowled, pulling it out. “Huh. Check that out. The compass **needle** ’s spinning like a damn top. What the hell?”

Sam took the gold compass Dean handed up to him. It had been their father’s once upon a time, a remnant of his days in the marines that he’d gifted to Dean. Sam held it up in a shaft of moonlight and his brows rose. “Must be some sort of magnetic anomaly nearby.” He took a few halting steps toward the door and the needle began to spin more wildly. “It’s the door.”

“That does NOT fill me with confidence. We need to let this go for tonight.” Dean pulled his bag over his shoulder and took his brother’s arm when he stood. “I’m gonna climb back up and see if I can find something to get you…”

“We need to check this out.” Sam cut him off easily and pointed to the door.

“No, we don’t. Not tonight.” Dean glared at him. “You’ve been skewered by a rock, dude. And bashed in the head. We’re going back to the motel. We’ll come back in a day or two.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s killing people, Dean. What if it kills again? We can’t. I’ll be fine.” He gave his brother a pleading look and knew he’d win. “Dean, please.”

Dean crumpled in the face of his brother’s well-used weapon -- the dreaded puppy dog eyes of doom. Dean had no defense for them and never had. “Dammit, Sammy.” He rolled his eyes and aimed his light at the door. “Fine. But if Grumpy the angry dwarf shows up, you stay behind me. You hear me?”

Sam smirked and nodded, planning on doing no such thing if his brother was in danger. “Promise.”

“Pain in my ass,” Dean grumbled and helped his brother walk over the uneven ground to the door. “You just gotta be Indiana friggin’ Jones with a gut wound.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Sam chuckled and then put his attention on the door, handing the compass back to his brother. He ran his fingers over carvings on the face of the stone door lightly. “These look like some of the symbols I found online. African something or other.”

“What? You can’t read it, geek boy?” Dean smiled and made his own observation of the door. “Wonder how it opens.” He pushed and poked at the edge of the door where it met hard earth and then grinned when he felt one of the symbols give slightly under his fingers. “Got it. Move back.”

“Dean…”

“Get the hell back in case I’m wrong and it, like, shoots poison darts or something!” Dean gave Sam a gentle push.

Sam chuckled. “You have watched Raiders of the Lost Ark too many times.”

“No such damn thing as too many times.” Dean smiled, pushed on the block and then backed hastily up to his brother as the door gave a sudden groan and started to shift back into the wall and then to the side. “Crap. Back up!” Dean took Sam’s arm and pulled him farther away as earth began to shower down from above and a few bricks from the edge of the temple crumbled from the structure and rolled down into the sinkhole with a clatter. He moved them out of harm’s way and kept a firm grip on Sam’s arm until the door was open and the debris had stopped falling.

Sam looked over at his brother’s slightly disappointed face and shook his head. “You were hoping there’d be poison darts, weren’t you?”

“Come on, Indiana,” Dean said instead, refusing to rise to the bait. He aimed his flashlight ahead of them and walked slow enough that Sam could stay safely just behind him. “Suppose this is where the thing’s been hiding out, under the ruin above.”

“Would make sense.” Sam ducked along with his brother as they passed through the door and he looked up in surprise to find the roof of the passage beyond was almost tall enough for him to stand straight. “Huh.”

“Built by gigantors,” Dean said with a laugh but kept his eyes ahead. Their voices echoed down the passage and back to them softly.

Sam looked up and knew the weight of the old temple was above them and couldn’t help a little shiver. “Not sure I like being under that thing, knowing the ground could subside at any moment.”

“Well, you’re just a bundle of comfort.” Dean flicked his own eyes up and tried not to think about it. “Passage turns up here.” He rounded the corner with his gun out, no longer taking any chances, and stared in surprise. “Holy crap! We are in an Indiana Jones movie.”

“What? What is it?” Sam moved up to look and followed the beam of Dean’s flashlight. Three, long spikes crossed the hall a few feet away and a skeleton draped in tattered, decaying clothing was pierced between the spikes and the stones.

Dean jumped when he felt a sharp pinch in the back of his arm and rounded on his little brother. “What the hell, dude?”

Sam gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. Just making sure. You know… awake?”

“Next time pinch your own damn arm, you freak. Jesus.” Dean sighed and turned back to the skeleton. He moved cautiously down the hall to the spikes and looked at the body. “Well, this guy’s good news.”

“How?” Sam asked and leaned on the wall to give himself a rest. The blood loss was quickly catching up to him along with the pain.

“Means we can be pretty damn sure there’s another way out of here.” Dean smiled and knelt. He poked at a pile of frayed linen and brittle leather on the floor that looked like it had once been a bag of some sort. He picked it open carefully and quirked a brow, pulling out a small black, leather bound book. “What have we here?” Dean handed it up to his brother and turned his attention to the spikes. They wouldn’t get any further if he couldn’t figure out a way to move them.

Sam took a penlight out of his pocket and flicked it on, gently opened the little book and smiled, amused. “Dude, it’s a journal. A Hunter’s journal, it looks like, judging by the devil’s trap sketched inside the front cover.” He flipped a few pages and frowned. “Well, hell. It’s in French. This is gonna take me a minute.”

Dean chuckled and took hold of the spikes, giving them a push toward the opposite wall. “Didn’t learn frog-talk at that fancy college of yours? Hey!” He snarled when Sam’s hand slapped into the back of his head.

“Shuddup.” Sam snorted and narrowed his eyes to make sense of the French as he turned to the back of the book and did his best to translate. “Geez, this guy’s handwriting was awful. It’s worse than yours.”

“My handwriting…” Dean grunted as he managed to shift the spikes a few inches. “… is awesome, bitch.”

Sam snorted a laugh and braced his free hand over his wound while he stifled the groan. He didn’t need Dean hovering over him. He brought the light back up to look at the book and concentrated. “I think the Eloka’s been here a lot longer than we thought. I think this guy was hunting it. Wow, this is old,” he said, looking at the blurred date at the top of one of the entries. “Nineteen something. Twenty or twenty-one maybe.” Sam broke off with a chuckle. “He says ‘the **aeroplane** is a devilish invention, and I may swim home to my beloved France.’”

“Damn straight.” Dean grinned. “Man after my own… move you bitch… heart. Ha!” Dean grinned in triumph as the spikes finally moved and slid back into the wall. The skeleton slid to the floor in an almost graceful crumble of bones and he looked sadly at them for just a moment -- a fellow Hunter who had died alone and forgotten.

“And you tease me about clowns. At least they’re creepy.”

“Dude. Clowns.” Dean smirked and stood next to his brother. “Planes are way scarier. What else does he say?”

Sam shook his head. “Not a lot. Most of this is just research about the Eloka, mentions of looking for this place, and then it ends after he writes that he found it.” He closed the journal and tucked it into his jacket. “Poor guy.”

“Keep that.” Dean turned and looked at the remains again. “We’ll come back and give him a proper funeral later.”

Sam smiled softly and nodded, agreeing with his brother that the dead man deserved a Hunter’s funeral. “So, watch out for traps then.”

“No shit.” Dean took his gun back out and aimed his flashlight at Sam again, not liking the pallor of his face or the sweat that seemed to have broken out across his face. Sam’s dark hair was stuck to his forehead and didn’t bode well for getting the wound properly clean later. “How are you feeling?” He took the hem of Sam’s shirt and knocked his brother’s hand away when he tried to stop him. “Lemme look.”

Sam sighed and resigned himself to being mother-henned. “It’s fine. I mean, it hurts like hell, but I’m good. I can do this.”

Dean was relieved to see his bandage seemed to be holding. It was stained red with Sam’s blood, but it wasn’t so saturated that it was leaking. They’d call it a win. “Alright, come on. Remember, you stay behind me.”

“Yes, mom.” Sam smiled and took his own gun out. “Can we go now?” He pushed himself up from the wall and waited for Dean to take the lead. He’d hoped the rest would have given him some energy back, but he still felt completely wiped out. Blood loss was a pain in the ass and he knew he didn’t have a whole lot of time left in him.

Dean moved cautiously down the passage, playing the light along the floor, walls, and ceiling in an effort to not miss another trap and end up like their French friend. The passage turned again, shorter this time, andended in another stone door that was shoved half open and wedged in place with a shard of rock. “Saves me some elbow grease. Thanks, Pierre.”

“Pierre? That’s what you’re gonna go with?” Sam chuckled.

“Until you go through that book and figure out his actual name.” Dean smirked and shone the light through the open door. It was a large room, and his light just barely reached the other side. He heard something move in the darkness and tensed. “Head’s up, Sammy,” he whispered and eased through the door.

Sam took his own gun out, relieved to find it still at his back, and pushed away the fatigue threatening to take him down. He moved in behind his brother and wished he had a bigger light than the penlight. It didn’t do much to cut the darkness. The air was stale with age and there was the bitter tang of something decomposing hanging through it. The back of Sam’s throat tickled with the odor, and he fought the urge to cough. Dean moved stealthily ahead of him, sweeping the light back and forth through the room. Sam heard something move inside the chamber, but he couldn’t tell where. The sound echoed and carried making it impossible to pinpoint a location.

Dean ground his teeth with frustration. It was making his skin itch that he could hear the damn thing moving around but couldn’t seem to find it. He glanced over his shoulder and found Sam several feet back, the penlight in his little brother’s hand gave him just enough light to see the lines of pain in his face, and he wished that he’d argued harder to make Sam leave and come back when he wasn’t the walking damn wounded. Dean turned back to the chamber as there was another flurry of muffled sound and knew it was too late for that. He swung the beam of his light to his left and jolted in surprise at the sudden movement caught in the beam. “Crap!” He grunted as something roughly half his height flew into him and slammed into his chest, knocking him back.

“Dean!” Sam watched his brother fall to the ground as the light swung wildly. Adrenaline flooded his system as Dean’s gun fired three times, and Sam tried to find something to shoot at without hitting his brother. “Dean?” He shouted in surprise and pain when something solid thumped into his stomach and threw him to the ground. The pain was instant and choked him as Sam fell and rolled across the stone floor. He gasped for breath and somehow managed to raise his gun and fire into the dark shape that loomed above him.

Dean jerked his head up with the sound of a gun and a strange, deep cry reverberating through the chamber. He shook off the dizziness and got to his knees. “Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam managed between gasps and curled around his stomach with a hand pressed to his wound. “You… you ok?”

“Holy crap. Yeah.” Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his head and felt a little blood but not enough to scare him. He grabbed his fallen light and aimed it toward the sound of his brother’s voice. “Where’d it go?”

Sam shook his head, still trying to calm his frantic breathing. “Dunno.” He coughed and moaned with his abused stomach and chest tightening painfully at the motion. “Shot it… I think.”

The broken sound of Sam’s voice wasn’t helping Dean’s panic level any and he got unsteadily to his feet. “Take a breath, dude,” he said softly as he walked over to his brother and knelt down beside him. “Sam.”

“Ok. I’m ok. Find it.” Sam waved his brother off.

“Dammit. Stay sharp.” Dean stood again and stayed in front of his brother as he swept the light around and searched for the Eloka again. “Come on out, ugly. Got some more bullets with your name on ‘em.” Dean heard another scuffle echo in the chamber and took a step away from his brother, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from.

“Dean. Be careful,” Sam warned in a voice gone hoarse with pain. He groaned softly and pressed harder over his wound. He could feel that it was bleeding again and didn’t want to distract his brother with the worry.

“We’re not gettin’ wasted by a reject from the seven dwarfs, dammit,” Dean growled and paced another step away. “Come on, you bastard.” He heard a rock clatter to his right and Dean resisted the urge to look. Every nerve in his body screamed at him that it was a distraction, and, sure enough, a second later, the Eloka rushed him from the left. Dean turned and fired two rounds into its body before it grappled with him again. “Hairy little… ugly… Jesus, you stink!” Dean shouted and rolled, managing to come out on top for a moment. The Eloka was a misshapen looking man. His wiry hair covered most of his face and body and glistened with mud and dirt as they rolled back and forth through the beam of Dean’s fallen flashlight. He slammed his fist into the creature’s nose and shouted in anger when he was toppled to his back again. Dean slammed his knee up into the Eloka and sent it rolling away in a howl of flying limbs.

“How do I gank this thing?” Dean yelled as he rolled to his feet quickly. “’Cause bullets ain’t doin’ crap!”

“Uh…” Sam forced his scattering thoughts to focus with effort and pulled the text he’d read up in his mind. “To… uh, to **defeat** the Eloka, you must find… find and crush the source of its **power**. The source of its…” Sam opened his eyes and watched the creature circle his brother. The dwarf passed through the beam of the flashlight and Sam saw a small, silver bell glint on its chest amidst the gnarled hair. “The bell! Crush the damn bell and then you can kill it!”

“Ok, Tinkerbell. Let’s dance.” Dean grinned and took the offensive. He lunged at the Eloka with his eyes on its chest. He drove his right fist with his gun into its face and, with his left, grabbed a handful of hair and the bell from its chest and tore it free. He danced back while the beast screamed. Dean went to his knees, set the bell in the beam of his flashlight and brought the butt of his gun down on it once and then again until it bent and then cracked. It fell apart in pieces and the creature screamed its rage. Dean swung the pistol up and fired four rounds into the Eloka’s chest before it could reach him. The dwarf howled and dropped to the dirt where it writhed for a moment and then went still.

Sam slumped into the ground in relief with the creature dead. “Took… took you long enough.”

Dean snorted and checked to make sure the Eloka was dead before he grabbed his flashlight and went to his brother. “Little bastard was a pain in the ass. Speaking of pains in my ass.” He knelt next to Sam and took his brother’s hand, moving it off his stomach so he could get a look at the wound. “How you doin’?”

“Starting to like it here.” Sam gritted his teeth while Dean peeled the bandage back. “Some curtains… mood… mood lighting… crap.”

Dean smiled thinly and taped the bandage back down. “Geek,” he said with a soft laugh. “You stand?” Sam gave him a nod and Dean took hold of his arm. “Ok, take a breath or somethin’ and don’t puke on me.”

“We know… where we’re going?” Sam moaned out a pained breath as Dean pulled him to his feet and swayed dangerously as his knees tried to buckle.

“Easy. Take it easy.” Dean held on to him and waited for him to steady and then pulled one of Sam’s long arms over his shoulders. “Spotted a door on the other side while I was lookin’ for Short Round over there.” He propped Sam’s head up in his hand and took a good look at him, not liking what he saw. “You good for this?”

“Yeah.” Sam gave a weak laugh and shook his head once Dean let it go and they started moving. “Just gonna… keep up with the Indiana Jones cracks, huh?”

“Dude. We’re in a friggin’ temple. With booby-traps.” Dean snorted. He hitched Sam’s arm a little higher and hoped they wouldn’t have more traps to worry about on the way out. He grinned when the new passage led immediately to a flight of rough, stone steps leading up. There was barely room enough for them to go up side by side, but they managed with Dean refusing to let Sam try it on his own. His little brother was barely staying on his feet as it was.

They emerged finally back into the night air from a hole in the ground covered over with thick bushes and tucked beside the bole of a massive tree. Sam took a deep breath of the open air and sagged in relief. “Motel,” he said and fixed his brother with a glare. “Don’t need a hospital.”

“Uh huh.” Dean kept them moving, turning unerringly in the direction of the road where they had parked and the Impala. Where he took his little brother once they reached the car was going to depend on what condition he was in when they got there.

“Mean it, Dean.” Sam worked to take more of his weight on his own legs. “S’just a little blood loss. No big deal.”

“Stop whinin’ and walk, princess.” Dean smirked at him.

“M’fine.”

“Right.”

Sam shook his head and concentrated on keeping his legs moving one after the other through the dense swamp. Somehow he was going to find the energy to make the hour long walk back to the car. He closed his eyes, trusting Dean to steer him and tried to catch his breath.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam opened his eyes again and jolted in confusion. Rather than the swamp he had been expecting, he was lying comfortably in a bed, propped up on pillows and staring at a blank, white ceiling. “Dean?”

“’Bout time you woke up.” Dean grinned and stood from his chair to sit on the edge of his brother’s bed.

“Hospital?” Sam asked and turned a weak glare at his brother.

“Well, since you weren’t awake, and, oh yeah, _wouldn’t_ wake up to argue with me and tell me how fine you were, here we are.” Dean fixed him with a stern look to convey that he had in fact carried Sam out of that damn swamp and brought him to the hospital in fear for his life.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Dean ran a hand back through his hair and grabbed the cup of water from the table when he saw Sam swallowing repeatedly. He handed it to him and studied his brother’s pale face. “You lost a lot of blood, dude, and you’ve got some internal stitches too.”

Sam’s brows flew up as he lowered the cup now that his throat was no longer parched. “How long have I been here?”

“It’s the next day.” Dean shrugged and slapped Sam’s hand away when he went to poke at his stomach. “Leave it alone. Assuming you can actually stand up later, I’ll bust you outta here.” He snorted a laugh. “I ain’t carrying your heavy ass again.”

Sam chuckled and knew that was a lie. “I can stand now.” He started to toss the blanket back and rolled his eyes when Dean slapped his hands away.

“Knock it off.” Dean stood again and dropped back into the chair. He put his feet up on the side of Sam’s bed and leaned back with a weary sigh, then stretched an arm out and pointed a finger to Sam’s left. “You’re not going anywhere until that’s empty.”

Sam turned his head to look at the half full bag of something clear suspended beside his bed and the line running into his arm. “Fluids?”

“And antibiotics and something else.” Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t payin’ attention.” Which, of course, was a flat lie. He’d paid very close attention to everything, every word from the harried doctor’s mouth and every caution that his little brother needed to not be moved for another day.

Sam looked back at him and saw the lines of stress around his brother’s eyes and the dark shadows under them. He blew out a breath and settled back into the bed. “That bad, huh?”

“You stopped breathin’,” Dean said softly and then gently kicked his brother’s knee with his boot. “Don’t do that again. You’re gonna give me grey hairs before I’m thirty, and I’m way too pretty for that shit.”

Sam chuckled and nodded. “Sorry?”

“Damn right.” Dean smiled and let the tension of the last day ease out of him now that Sam was awake and able to roll his eyes at him again. “Go back to sleep or somethin’, Indiana.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair, planning on taking his own advice. He’d turned off his cell phone and Sam’s as well, preventing their father from sending them more coordinates and setting his brother off on another mission. He was going to make sure they didn’t do a damn thing until Sam was healed, whether his stubborn little brother liked it or not.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** BruisedBloodyBroken


	22. For BruisedBloodyBroken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For BruisedBloodyBroken - I’d love to get a oneshot about hurt!stabwound!Sam, awesome!Dean. Hunt gone wrong, Dean’s possessed by a ghost who killed his little brother 130 yrs ago in a fight. The ghost wants to do the same to Sam and Dean.
> 
> A/N: I know I just set the last reward in season 1 but this one is going there as well. :D Setting this one after 1x10 “Asylum” just seemed like the perfect place for it. Lol Hope you enjoy it!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean looked up at the old house warily and shook his head. “Dude, we should just torch the whole damn house.”

Sam smiled and studied the building. It was old and he couldn’t say it was falling apart; more like it had already fallen apart. Part of one wall of the house was actually detached and standing at an odd angle away from the frame of the building, supported only by the weight of the brick chimney running up the middle of it and the green ivy that covered most of the structure. The windows were black with their glass long gone, and the roof over the front porch had collapsed at some point to cover the porch and partially block front door. Even that didn’t really matter as the front door had been ripped off years back if the ivy growing through and into the house was anything to go by.

“Seriously, Sam. Couple gallons of gasoline in the windows and whoosh.” Dean threw his hands up with a grin, picturing the satisfying inferno in his mind.

“Can’t torch the house because what if the bones are buried in the cellar? The fire might not get them and then we’re worse than where we started, having to dig through the burned out hulk of a house to find them.” Sam slapped his brother’s shoulder and started for the house. “Come on.”

Dean scowled and trailed after his brother. He really didn’t want either one of them walking through the derelict of a house. He snorted a soft laugh as Sam climbed the collapsed roof on the porch to get to the door. His gigantic little brother was probably going to make a whole new hole in the floor at some point. “Hey! Wait up!” Dean lunged ahead and jumped onto the roof to reach Sam before he got inside. “No walkin’ in the middle of the floors. Stay by the walls, and you hear something crack under you, you get the hell out. You got me?”

Sam rolled his eyes at his over-protective big brother. “Yes, Dean.” He smirked as Dean climbed through the top of the doorway and into the house. “Of course, I’m not the one who lives on pie. You should be the one worried about falling through the floor.”

“Shuddup.” Dean snorted a laugh and turned back. “Hand me the damn shovels and get in here. Ain’t a damn thing wrong with my weight. Pie’s good for ya’.”

“There are days I’m surprised you can buckle your belt.” Sam chuckled and handed the shovels through the door before climbing in himself. He had to bend nearly in half to get his larger frame through the door and sent a dirty look to his brother’s laughing face. “Shut up.”

“Behemoth. Come on. Stay by the walls.” Dean took his own advice and stayed close to the wall, feeling his nerves twitch with each creak of aged and rotting wood beneath his feet. As they neared an open doorway into what had once been the living room, the floor actually bowed beneath his weight and he hopped quickly across to the other side. “Shit.”

“I just wanna say now, I take it back.” Sam gave a worried smile as he followed his brother’s lead and carefully jumped the open expanse of the doorway to the other side of the hall. “We definitely should have just burned the place down from the outside and worried about the rest later. I was wrong.”

Dean chuckled and slapped his brother’s arm. “I’m gonna remind you of that if I fall through this damn floor.”

“Door to the cellar’s probably in the kitchen,” Sam said as they moved further into the crumbling structure. “That’s usually where it was in these old houses.”

Dean smirked and started down the hall again. “I’m trying to decide if you know that because we’ve been in a lot of old houses or because you’re just that much of a geek.” He took the earned slap to the back of his head with a chuckle. His expression darkened as they neared the back of the house and he once again thought how much he really didn’t like this job. The fact that they were searching for the remains of a man who’d murdered his own brother… his little brother… a hundred and thirty years ago just struck a little too close to home for him after that damn asylum. He was doing his best to believe Sam when he insisted the things the doctor’s spirit had made him say weren’t really his thoughts or feelings, but, damn, it was hard. When they weren’t hurling insults or jokes back and forth in an attempt at ‘normal’ for them, there was a constant look of apology in Sam’s eyes along with something else that Dean categorized as Sam’s ‘kicked-puppy’ face. His little brother was still waiting for Dean to take a shot at him because of what Sam had said while possessed. Some days Dean was almost willing to do it just to see if the kid would finally let it go.

“Dean.” Sam nudged his brother’s shoulder ahead of him to get his attention. He had the distinct impression Dean had zoned out on him for a moment. “Kitchen on your right, I think, and there’s a hole in front of you. Might want to not walk into it.”

“Shuddup. I saw it,” Dean said defensively and inwardly kicked himself. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he had definitely not seen the damn thing. He scowled and crossed the hall around the hole before moving back and heading for the kitchen door.

“Uh huh.” Sam rolled his eyes and followed in Dean’s footsteps, using his longer stride to avoid actually stepping in the center of the hall as he moved. He took in the near-empty expanse of the kitchen with a little concern. Parts of the floor had caved in along one wall, and Sam could tell it was where the counters had once stood. They’d fallen into the cellar under their own weight as the floor rotted. The windows on the wall across the room were devoid of glass, and the wood planks beneath were warped and feeble looking. That left them crossing the center of the floor to get to the door on the other side. “Crap.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed and shrugged. “I’ll go first.”

Sam wanted to make another smart-ass comment about Dean’s love of pie sending him through the floor, but instead, he was holding his breath while Dean moved as quickly across the creaking floor as he could. Sam blew out a breath and sucked in another when Dean reached the far side safely. “Seriously. Let’s go with your plan and burn the place down.”

Dean smirked as he looked at his brother’s obviously nervous face. He didn’t blame him. Sam was taller and maybe even a little heavier with muscle mass. “Just go fast, dude. Stay right in the middle. I could hear it creakin’ and shiftin’, but it seemed pretty steady right underneath me.”

“Right. Steady.” Sam didn’t believe it for one second, but he took a deep, steadying breath and all but sprinted the length of the kitchen until he was standing next to his chuckling, big brother.

“I should have recorded that. Holy crap, the look on your face.” Dean laughed and rubbed a hand over his face to get a handle on himself.

“You’re a jerk.” Sam bumped his brother in the shoulder roughly and pulled open what he hoped was the cellar door.

“Bitch,” Dean said with another snort of laughter. “Yahtzee.”

Sam took out a flashlight and aimed the beam down the steps. “Uh… we get down these without taking the hard way down, I’ll give you five bucks.” The stairs were just as decrepit as the rest of the house. A few of them had rotted completely away with age and weathering. He stepped down onto the first and put a heavy on the hand wall beside him, only to jerk it back when the wall actually shifted and creaked. “Holy crap.” Another snort of laughter from his big brother at his back was enough to steel his resolve, and Sam squared his shoulders and moved down the stairs, staying as close to the wall as he dared while trying to find the least collapsible treads with his flashlight.

Dean followed closely behind. No matter how funny it was to see that slightly panicked look on his little brother’s face, he was well aware how dangerous the situation actually was, and if Sam was going to fall, well, he was going to fall with him. “Keep moving. Don’t…”

“Keep my weight on any one step too long. I know. Geez.” Sam rolled his eyes and continued quickly down the stairs. He wobbled once on a particularly weak tread and hopped the last few feet to the bottom.

Dean followed his example and landed beside his brother with a thump. He grinned and held out a hand. “Five bucks.”

“Huh?”

“You said…”

“Dude. Priorities?” Sam said with a chuckle and knocked Dean’s hand away.

“My priority is you owe me five bucks, bitch.” Dean grinned and flicked on his own flashlight, then handed the shovels to his brother. He pulled the sawed-off shotgun out of his jacket with his free hand and took a look around the cellar. “Cozy.”

Sam sneezed and rubbed his sleeve under his nose. He squinted into the gloomy darkness of the cellar. Dust sifted down from the floor above, no doubt a result of their movements, and filled the air in a hazy cloud. “You want left?”

“Yeah. Don’t talk to strangers.” Dean smiled at him and turned left away from the stairs into the cellar. He shone his light along the uneven floor in search of something that he hoped would resemble a rough grave if they were lucky. He tucked his flashlight under his arm for a moment and reached into his pocket to turn the EMF meter on. He heard it hum, but the volume stayed on the low end of the spectrum. “Got somethin’ in the house but it hasn’t noticed us yet. Stay sharp!”

“Got it!” Sam called back. He ducked under an old, copper pipe hanging from the ceiling and had to climb over the counters from the kitchen above. He dusted off his hands and paid careful attention to the floor. “Good thing they never poured cement down here,” he muttered to himself. They’d have needed a jackhammer and a week to find the bones had that been the case. Sam squeezed between two supports for the floor above and tried not to be nervous about the way they were buckled and leaning dangerously to opposite sides. There was a whole house above them waiting to collapse in on top of them if they weren’t careful. Coming down here was definitely not one of their smarter moves, in retrospect, but since they were here, the faster they did the job and got out, the better.

“This job seriously sucks,” Sam grumbled and sneezed again as he dislodged a cloud of dust while moving some broken boards out of his path. He aimed the light out into the new section of cellar and smiled as it outlined an indented, rectangular shape in the floor. “Dean! I think I found it!” Sam looked up at the house and back to the stairs and nodded. “West side of the cellar.”

“Comin’ to you!”

Sam nodded at Dean’s reply and dropped one of the shovels to the ground along with his bag. He set his flashlight up on an old box off the side so it shone on the impromptu grave and quickly jammed the blade into the dirt. “Dean, hurry up! I’m not digging this up by myself.” He heard Dean’s booted steps moving behind him and tossed a clod of dirt to the side as the EMF meter in his brother’s pocket began to squeal. “Dude, come on. Sounds like Grady’s figured out we found his grave. He’s gonna be pissed.”

“Too late.”

“Huh?” Sam turned his head and startled when Dean’s hands closed around his arms and spun him. He staggered back a step to stare at him. “Dean, what the hell?”

“Never leave well enough alone, can you, little brother?” Dean snarled and jerked the shovel out of Sam’s hands, tossing it aside. “Always complaining, never happy with the way things are, and you sure as hell never listen to me.”

“Dean?” Sam backed away a step with a sudden, sinking feeling in his gut. That feeling was confirmed a moment later when a trickle of blood emerged from Dean’s nose to run over his lip. “Oh, God. Dean.” He ran a shaking hand over his face as his brother closed on him again and shook his head. “Grady?” Sam made a reach for the shotgun in his brother’s hands and growled when it was pulled away and thrown out of his reach. “Dean, you can fight him. Dean please!” Yet even as he said it, Sam knew from personal experience just how close to impossible that was. He remembered all too vividly how close he had come to killing Dean while possessed by the spirit of Dr. Ellicot.

“All you ever do is fight me, you ungrateful little shit.” Dean listened to his own voice sneering at his little brother, and from the back corner of his mind where he’d been shoved, he screamed for release. He could see what Grady was thinking, what the ghost was planning, and he fought with everything he had to try and stop it.

“Dean?” Sam watched his brother’s face go blank for a moment. Dean staggered a step and hope blew through Sam. “That’s it, Dean. Come on.” Sam snapped his hands out and caught his brother’s shoulders before Dean could topple forward. He steadied him and tried to duck down to see into his eyes. “You back with me?” He watched Dean lift his head, saw his brother’s glazed, green eyes meet his, but there was nothing of Dean in them. Sam gasped as a white-hot pain erupted in his stomach. He looked down with horrified eyes to find Dean’s hand and Dean’s favorite knife embedded to the hilt.

Sam reacted, slamming a hand into Dean’s elbow and his brother’s hand fell away from the blade to leave it buried in Sam’s flesh. “God,” Sam croaked and turned, trying to follow the direction the shotgun had been thrown.

“Didn’t I always tell you to go with your gut, Tommy?” Dean, or rather Grady, said with a vicious laugh.

Sam dropped to his knees with a strangled shout of pain as the blade of the knife shifted minutely. He could hear Dean’s footsteps pacing behind him as he crawled toward the shotgun, but the spirit made no move to stop him. Grady clearly figured he’d done his damage. “Please, please,” Sam whispered and nearly cried in relief when his fingers found the butt of the shotgun. He pulled it into his hands and then stared down at it, horrified for a whole new reason.

“Dean.” Sam turned to face his brother, settling back on his knees and hated himself for what he had to do.

“You’re gonna die, Tommy. Like you should’a when you were born.” Grady morphed Dean’s face into another sneer of hatred. He could hear Dean screaming at him in a rage and Grady stopped and stared in surprise when the screams died away to be replaced by the man’s firm, silent order to his little brother on the ground; ‘Do it, Sammy.’ Grady frowned, hearing the firm conviction and acceptance in those three words and didn’t understand.

“Dean, I’m sorry.” Sam gasped and brought the shotgun up while the spirit seemed to pause and stared away into the distance. “God, Dean, I’m sorry, but I don’t… I don’t know any other way. Forgive me!” Sam pulled the trigger and unloaded a round of rock salt into his brother’s chest for the second time in as many weeks. He watched Dean spin around with the impact and then fall to the floor.

“Dean!” Sam shouted and crawled as quickly as he could to his brother’s side, trying to ignore the sharp ripping pain in his stomach that accompanied his every movement. He heard the EMF meter in Dean’s pocket go silent and was weak with relief. The spirit was gone for the moment. “Dean? Hey, you alright?” Sam rolled his big brother onto his back with a pained groan and had to hold the knife in his stomach still with one hand. “Crap,” Sam dropped his head and choked around the lump in his throat at the sight of Dean’s blood-speckled shirts. He was still barely healed from the last round of rock salt Sam had shot into him. “Dean?” Sam palmed the side of his brother’s face, but Dean seemed to be deeply unconscious.

Sam closed his eyes for just a second and then forced himself to his feet. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere. Back in a… be right back.” He staggered unsteadily the yard or so back to the grave, and Sam whimpered as he knelt to dig in his bag. He pulled out the container of salt, tried to regain his feet, and sagged back onto his knees. Sam looked down and tried not to panic at the amount of blood soaking his shirts and the top of his jeans.

“Move, Sam,” he ordered himself and climbed back to his feet to stumble back to his brother’s side. Sam moved as quickly as he could and poured a wide circle of salt around Dean to protect him from the spirit’s return. He dropped the container and sagged back to the ground next to Dean. “Dean.” Sam gave his brother’s shoulder a shake. “Dean, please.” Sam coughed and ran the back of his free hand over his mouth. It didn’t surprise him to see blood, but it did scare hell out of him all the same. “You gotta wake up, man. Dean. You’re gonna be really pissed at yourself for killing me if I bleed out here while you’re taking a nap.”

Dean was drawn back from the dark place he’d been floating by the unmistakable sound of his little brother in pain. He’d know that particular hitch in Sam’s voice anywhere and all at once, the memories came back in a rush. “Sammy!” Dean woke with a start and jerked up from the ground with the visceral memory of his own hand driving his knife into his brother. He blinked his vision clear and found Sam right beside him.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was a hoarse, pain-filled whisper.

“Oh, God.” Dean’s eyes went wide in shock as he took in the hilt of his knife and all the blood. It was almost enough to make him forget about his own pain as he grabbed hold of Sam’s arm. “Sammy? Lay down, dude. I’m gonna… lay you down, ok?” He took Sam’s single nod as an affirmative and gently eased Sam down until he was lying on his back. “Easy. It’s… you’re gonna be alright.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Sam gasped in a near sob once he was on his back and grabbed hold of his brother’s arm, needing the contact. “I had to. Dean… I’m sorry.”

“Stop, Sammy,” Dean said softly and managed a small smile for him. He purposefully didn’t look down at his chest. He knew that was just going to make it hurt worse, and Sam was right. It was the only thing he could have done to set Dean free in that moment. “I remember, ok? You couldn’t hear me, man, but I was screamin’ at you to pull the trigger.” Dean pulled his jacket off when he felt Sam’s hand on his arm shaking. He spread it over his brother’s chest and made sure it didn’t touch the hilt of his knife.

“Take it out?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “No. No way. Sorry, tiger, but no way in hell.” He wasn’t about to risk removing his knife and watching his little brother bleed out in minutes because it did more damage on the way out. “You’re gonna be a in a damn hospital before that thing goes anywhere. Ok?”

Sam nodded miserably. “Ok. Alright. Hey.” He gave Dean’s arm a nudge. “Grave. S’over… over there.”

“I got it. I’m gonna toast this bastard and then I’m callin’ for help and gettin’ you outta here. Sit tight.” Dean squeezed the side of Sam’s neck for a moment to reassure him and then turned to look over at the grave.

Sam felt around with his left hand and grabbed the shotgun. “Prop… prop me up. I can watch your back.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue and then changed his mind. If he didn’t do it, Sam would just try to sit himself up and he didn’t want to know what that would do to his wound. “Ok. Don’t move too much, dammit.” He picked up one of their fallen flashlights just outside the circle and played it around the cellar until he spotted what he needed. Dean dashed across the open space and grabbed what turned out to be a pile of old, dusty tarps. He kept one ear tuned to the EMF detector still in his pocket. Eventually, Grady would be back and probably sooner rather than later.

“Ok, here we go.” Dean knelt with a stifled groan for his own pain behind his brother and rolled the tarps up. He slid an arm under Sam’s shoulders and lifted his head and shoulders until he could slide the pile beneath him. “How’s that?”

Sam nodded. “Good,” he said, a little breathless with the fresh wave of pain the movement had brought him. He brought up his right leg and propped the barrel of the shotgun on his knee, aiming toward the grave. “I’m good.”

“I mean it, man. No movin’ around. You need somethin’, you ask.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and then stood. He wanted to call an ambulance right then and get his brother the hell out, but he couldn’t. There was nothing to stop the ghost from grabbing some other poor sucker who came in after them. He had no choice.

“Dean. Be careful.” Sam managed a small, weak smile and watched his brother move stiffly out of the salt circle and over to the grave.

“Don’t worry, buddy.” Dean picked up a shovel and looked back at his brother with a lopsided grin. “If ol’ cranky possesses my ass again, you have my permission to light me up again, ok? Just, don’t aim for the face, dude. I’m too pretty to be scarred.”

Sam’s laugh broke off in a gasp of pain and he fought to keep his eyes open. He waved a hand to keep his brother from coming back. “Ok… I’m ok. Just hurry.”

“Dammit,” Dean growled softly and started digging. His chest pulled and burned with each shovelful of dirt he tossed aside, and he wasn’t looking forward to spending another night picking rock salt out of his chest with tweezers. He shook his head at himself and suddenly felt like an ass for giving Sam such a hard time over what had happened at the asylum. Dean glanced back at his brother for a moment and sighed in sudden understanding. He’d felt Grady pulling on his own frustrations for ammunition with Sam, but he sure as hell would never say the things that damn ghost had spouted off at Sam. Sure, the kid pissed him off, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love him. “I’m an idiot.”

“Dean?”

“Nothin’.” Dean snorted, glad Sam hadn’t been able to make out his mutter and put his back into digging just as the EMF meter gave a new whine of activity. “He’s coming!”

Sam nodded and kept his eyes alert for any sign of the spirit. He sucked in a surprised breath when Grady’s spirit suddenly appeared between him and his brother. “Dean! Down!”

“Shit!” Dean dropped to the ground as the shotgun fired and he looked over to see Sam’s wide eyes. He smiled and got back to his knees. “Nice one, Sammy. Reload!”

“Yeah.” Sam fumbled in his pocket for fresh cartridges with shaking fingers. He was starting to go into shock, he knew, but there was little they could do about it until the spirit was gone.

Dean redoubled his efforts and grinned in relief with the first sight of bone. The grave was thankfully shallow, and Dean dropped back to his knees and started clearing the dirt with his hands. “Almost, Sammy.”

Sam wanted to respond, to say something, but it took all the energy he had left just to keep his eyes open and the gun up while Dean dug. He settled for raising one hand when Dean’s worried eyes cut to him.

Dean shook his head and finished clearing the dirt from the skeleton. The bones were brown and dark from the earth they’d rested in, and thankfully, it’d been enough decades that they didn’t have to worry about the smell of burning flesh once this was done. Dean stood quickly and splayed a hand over his aching chest. “Crap, that stings like a bitch.” He groaned softly and went back to his brother. “How you doin’?” he asked as he picked up the salt canister from where Sam had dropped it.

“Still… still here.” Sam managed in a bare whisper.

Dean nodded and felt pride for his little brother who was somehow managing to hold on in spite of the blood loss and pain. “Two minutes.” He went back to the grave and poured salt over the bones, making sure he covered them all before he knelt and rooted through Sam’s bag for the lighter fluid. He jogged the few steps back to the grave and started squirting lighter fluid over the bones as the meter in his pocket once again began to squeal.

“What the?” Dean looked up as a cold wind began to blow through the cellar. It brought clouds of dust from the floors above to sift down and choke the air. He turned to look at his brother and snarled. Grady’s spirit was standing behind Sam in his blind spot, and Dean could see the wind working at breaking the line of salt protecting him. “No you don’t, you son of a bitch. Sam! On your six!”

Sam startled with Dean’s shout. He didn’t need to think with the warning. Sam pulled the barrel of the shotgun up and over his shoulder in a jerk of motion and pulled the trigger. The sound echoed in his ears and he heard an angry growl behind him before the unnatural wind suddenly died.

Dean pulled his lighter from his pocket once Sam dispersed Grady again. He spun the wheel and dropped it into the shallow grave. He backed away as the flames rose up and Grady’s last angry roar filled the house, shaking the rafters and filling the air with dust once more until finally it died away into silence. He slumped in relief. “Adios, asshole.” Dean looked down into the burning grave and resisted the urge to spit on it. “You didn’t deserve to have a little brother.”

“Dean.”

Sam’s faint voice was enough to draw Dean out of his thoughts and he moved hastily across the floor to kneel next to him. “Hey, Sammy.” Dean pulled the shotgun out of his grasp and set it aside. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911 while he tried not to panic at how pale and bloodless his little brother looked.

Sam listened distantly to Dean calling for help, to the weak story he was spinning for the dispatcher about contracting to restore the house and managed to raise one hand to grab hold of his brother’s jacket before his eyes fell closed, too heavy for him to keep open any longer. He wanted to laugh and tell Dean that no one was going to buy that but he simply had nothing left.

“Sammy? Dude, no. Stay awake. Hey.” Dean palmed the side of his brother’s face and frowned. “Sam.” He dropped his cell phone to the floor and took Sam’s face in his hands. “Come on, Sam. Open your eyes. Sam!”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam heard Dean calling his name. It sounded faint and soft, like it was coming through water and he struggled to follow the sound. Dean sounded worried… scared…and that was never a good thing. Sam struggled to convince his eyes to open and at last he managed to crack them just a little. “Dean?” His eyes opened wider when he realized he was no longer in the cellar but staring at a pristine, white hospital ceiling.

“Hey, little brother.” Dean grinned with relief and sat on the edge of Sam’s bed. He brushed the dark hair out of his brother’s eyes so Sam could see better and rested his hand on his shoulder. “About time you woke up.”

“Wha’ happened?” Sam frowned, unable to remember anything after seeing the flames rise up from Grady’s grave.

“Well, no one was interested in even tryin’ to haul your gigantor ass back up those stairs, so they basically had to take the place apart above us.” Dean snorted. “Dude, there was a crane.”

“Liar.”

“Swear on pie, Sammy. They lifted you out with a crane.” Dean chuckled at the disgust on his brother’s face. He sobered somewhat and moved his hand up to squeeze his Sam’s neck lightly. “It was bad. They, uh… they lost you for a couple minutes in the ER after they took the knife out.”

Sam’s pale face paled even further and stared into Dean’s fearful face. “But… I’m ok now, right, Dean?”

“Yeah, dude. You’re good.” Dean smiled again to try and remove some of the fear from Sam’s face. “No damage done. You were light a couple pints, but they topped you up.”

Sam could tell from the lingering look of fear on his brother’s face that it had been more than a couple pints and he swallowed. It had been close. “You know it wasn’t you, right? What happened. That’s not on you, Dean.”

Dean sighed and shook his head a little. It amazed him how easily Sam could forgive him for what had been said and done while possessed but Dean had had such a problem letting it go when Sam had been the one ridden by a spirit. Some days, he wasn’t sure he deserved having Sam as a brother, nor how the kid had managed to grow up so damn tenderhearted in the Winchester family. “It’s ok, Sammy. I know.”

“I mean it. Wasn’t you,” Sam insisted tiredly even as his eyes started to fall closed. He fought to keep them open. “I know, remember?” he mumbled as he felt sleep tugging at him.

Dean snorted a soft laugh and carded a hand through his brother’s hair. “Oh, I remember. And now I understand,” he added softly.   
  
Sam’s eyes cracked open just a bit and Dean knew that what he was seeing reflected in them was grateful relief. Dean smiled a bit sadly unable to stop the thought that it had taken nearly killing Sam with his own hand to make him understand. “Go back to sleep.” He kept up the soothing motion with his hand and watched Sam lose the battle to keep his eyes open.

“Not fair,” Sam mumbled.

Dean grinned and nodded. “Nope.” Sam, as a child, had never been able to stay awake with his brother running his fingers through his hair, and it seemed, some things didn’t change no matter how long they were apart. “Sleep. I’ll bust you outta here tomorrow if you look less like somethin’ we salt and burn.”

“Your face looks like… like…”

Dean chuckled as Sam’s voice trailed off into sleep. “Weak, Sammy. Gotta work on your insults.” He eased off the bed and sat back down in the chair next to it. Dean rested his arms up on the side of the bed and then lowered his head on top of them. Now he could allow himself to get some of the sleep he’d denied himself, and he wasn’t looking forward to telling his little brother that it was two days later and he’d been damn near comatose for all of them. “Night, little brother.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** Brielle-W


	23. For Brielle-W

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Brielle-W - I would have loved if the second trial went like this: Kevin reads in the tablet about a way to open the cage. After a lot of thinking, Sam and Dean decide to go together and save Adam. When they enter the cage, they have to work quickly in order to get Adam out without being noticed by Lucifer and Michael, but Adam doesnt think they are real and Lucifer sees them and attacks them (Michael can either help them or ignore them). Dean manages to convince Adam, Sam stands up to Lucifer and fights for his brothers, getting really hurt in the process. Kevin realizes they are taking too long, and does something clever to get them out just in time. They release Adam's soul, feeling sorry for taking too long. They confort each other and Kevin says he is glad that he is a part of such a great family.
> 
> A/N: Ok so clearly this is going to be HIGHLY Alternate Universe. LOL I don’t normally go this far outside canon so bear with me. I’ll do my best for you, dear and hope you enjoy it! I will say, I definitely let the brotherly angst and comfort out to play in this one. :P

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean stared around the barge’s interior with a grimace. “We need to get you a maid service, Kevin?”

“Don’t kill the cockroaches. I’m naming them.” Kevin gave a harried and tired smirk to the older brother and pointed to one large cockroach scuttling out of sight behind the sink. “That’s Ringo. Rest of the Beatles are in the bathroom.”

“Kevin.”

“What? Oh, right! Come… come on.” Kevin walked unsteadily to his worktable and the disordered piles of paper and books.

“Are you sleeping at all, Kevin?” Sam asked worriedly as he took in the prophet’s pale face and shadowed eyes.

“Sleep when you’re dead, right, dude?” Dean said with a smirk and then shrugged when his little brother gave him a dirty look. “What?”

“You need sleep and food, man,” Sam said, concerned, and met Kevin’s not entirely focused gaze. “You need to take a break.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Sure.” Kevin rolled his eyes at Sam dismissively and pointed to the wall. “I figured it out. The next trial. What you have to do.”

“No shit! What is it?” Dean strode over to what he called Kevin’s wall of crazy and looked at the meaningless, to him, Post-it notes, scrawled pictures, printouts and bits of ancient languages.

“Well, it’s… complicated, and, uh…” Kevin looked between the two of them before settling on Dean. “You’re not gonna like it. I mean, neither one of you is gonna be happy, but you know, Dean gets all Deliverance and banjos when it means you’re in danger, so…” He shrugged at Sam with a nervous laugh.

“What the hell is it already?” Dean growled and scrubbed a hand over his face in a bid for patience. “Kevin. Use your words.”

“Shut up. Ok, so, the second trial is basically, you have to rescue an innocent soul from torment and return it to heaven.” Kevin took a cautious step with a sure feeling of just how Dean was going to react to the details.

“Ok. And where exactly do we find this tormented soul?” Dean fixed Kevin with a steely look as the kid moved back.

“According to the tablet it’s, uh… well, the Enochian was really rough and I think I fried a few brain cells… ok, a few more brain cells making it make sense. And at first I figured I was wrong because…”

Sam watched Kevin as he rambled and stared at the wall and felt a sick feeling settle into his stomach. He put a hand out and grabbed Kevin’s shoulder to stop him. “Kevin. Just tell us. Where am I gonna have to go?”

“The Cage. Lucifer’s Cage.” Kevin spit it out and felt Sam’s hand tighten painfully on his shoulder for a moment before it fell away. He saw the darkening look of shock and anger on Dean’s face and backed up another step. “I’m just the messenger, remember? Don’t hit me, dude.”

“How is… that’s not even possible!” Dean said angrily and pointed a finger at the prophet. “You read it wrong.”

“No. I didn’t. Don’t you think I checked?” Kevin threw his arms up and dropped into the chair behind his desk with a thump. “It’s right. There’s an invocation to open a door to the Cage that can only be used by someone undertaking the trials. It’s very specific, like freakily specific. The door’s designed to only be opened by Sam, and it can’t be used by angels or demons.”

Sam staggered a step and smiled briefly when Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder to steady him without a word. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried not to let his memories overtake him. “Are you… you’re sure about that? Lucifer… Lucifer and Michael, they can’t get out if I do this?” The Cage. Sam had to close his eyes for a moment. Though Castiel had taken his madness, the memories were still there, almost two hundred years of torture and pain, and Sam wasn’t sure if he had the strength to force himself to step back into that place. He suddenly felt incredibly old and tired.

“Sam. Take a breath, dude. Slow it down.” Dean gave his brother a shake worriedly.

Sam’s eyes snapped open and he realized he was breathing hard, almost gasping. He worked to slow it down. “Right. Sorry. No, I’m good. Sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re great.” Dean watched his brother for a second until he was sure he wasn’t going to hyperventilate and looked over at Kevin. “Are you positive about this? This has to happen?”

“Well, unless you guys just want to skip this whole trial thing, yes, Dean.” Kevin snorted and then held up his hands in surrender when Dean snarled. “Look, I didn’t make the rules, alright? Sam should be safe… I think.”

“You think? Don’t gimme that. There’s no way in hell Sam’s going anywhere near that sadistic, twisted son of a bitch again unless you can promise me that he ain’t gonna end up…”

“Dean.” Sam cut his brother off and took a firm grip on Dean’s arm. “Go easy on him.” He went to the desk and picked up a bottle of painkillers and handed them to Kevin. “Take a few, Kevin. You look like crap.”

Kevin snorted a miserable laugh and nodded, twisting the top off the bottle. He shook out four and swallowed them dry. “Not exactly looking very GQ yourself, Sam,” he said, but it wasn’t unkind, just an observation that the trials were clearly doing something to Sam. He waved a hand when Sam opened his mouth. “Alright, look, the gist of this is, you do the spell. You walk into the Cage and pick up an innocent soul, you come back out and send it on to Heaven. The Devil can’t get out and you can’t get stuck there.” He said that with a glance at Dean. “The spell has a time limit. Basically, after some period of time, Sam’ll get sucked back out whether he has the soul or not, and, uh, if he doesn’t, then, well there’s no second chance. Trial failed.”

“Give me the spell,” Sam said firmly and nodded. “I can do this.”

“Sammy…”

“No choice, Dean. It’s not like I can stop now.” Sam gave his brother a sad smile. “We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

“But it’s the Cage, Sam.” Dean stared his brother down. “You really gonna tell me you can keep your head on straight in there? With him?”

Sam shook his head once, rolled his eyes and then nodded. “I can. I will. Besides, there’s a chance they won’t even know we’re there.”

“Right, because they’ll just look the other way while we go in and swipe the only chew-toy they’ve got left,” Dean said angrily and resisted the urge to kick something.

Sam blew out a breath and leaned back against the wall, needing something solid to ground him. “They don’t always… sometimes they fight each other.” Sam smiled but there was no humor in it. It looked almost painful. “They spend… spent a lot of time tearing at each other, and they’d just sort of… forget about us for a while. We’d get left on our own for days sometimes… weeks even.” Sam chuckled, but it sounded strained even to his own ears and he couldn’t look at Dean. “Of course, we were unfed so, you know, starvation and dehydration over and over, but considering what was usually happening… it was kind of like a vacation.”

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean breathed. He wrapped a hand around the side of his brother’s neck and just held onto him, waiting for Sam’s troubled gaze to find his again. Neither of them had ever been big on sharing hell experiences with each other, and hearing even a piece of it now… it broke a little something inside of Dean, as though, so long as Sam never told him, he could pretend it hadn’t been the horror he was sure it was. He shook his head at himself and squeezed Sam’s neck a little more firmly, meeting his eyes. “You’re not goin’ down there alone this time.”

“Dean, no.” Sam shook his head, but Dean ignored him and looked over to Kevin instead.

“That tablet say anything about him havin’ to do this alone or can he have backup?” Dean demanded.

Kevin nodded. “No; I mean, yeah. Theoretically, Sam should be able to bring someone with him and the same, I don’t know… rules… would apply. Whoever it is would be connected to him and to part of the spell, and be yanked back out when he is.”

“Works for me. Get the spell and tell us what we need.” Dean turned back to his brother, who he had yet to let go of and stared him down. “I mean it, Sammy. You’re not doin’ this on your own. Not this time. Don’t argue with me.”

Sam opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and then closed it because the truth was that the knowledge that Dean would be beside him while he faced his nightmare was… comforting. “Alright.”

Dean’s brows flew up in surprise and he smiled. “Well, alright then.” He scowled and slapped his brother’s shoulder. “How come you couldn’t be this easy when you were a kid? Pain in my ass.”

Kevin watched the exchange, a little bemused. Most of the time, the brothers seemed like scary warriors, but then there were moments like this when he was reminded that they’d been kids once too and had had their safe, normal world ripped apart just like his. He sighed. He didn’t have time for this. He still had more translating to do. “If you two are done having your moment, you want this ritual or not?”

“Shuddup, kid,” Dean said, though not unkindly. He gave Sam’s neck one last squeeze and went to the table when Kevin held up a piece of paper. “So how difficult is this gonna be? ‘Cause opening a door into the Cage, man. Last time we had to open a can of whoop-ass on the Four Horsemen.”

Sam chuckled. “Trust me. Dean can’t ask Death for his ring back.”

“Fried pickle chips aren’t gonna cut it with him anymore,” Dean said ruefully.

“Pickle chips? No. I don’t want to know.” Kevin waved his hands and pointed to the paper. “Everything you need is right there. Sam has to do all the work -- paint the symbols, say the words, find the gold ring, or, you know, the innocent soul. Are you really sure there is one in Lucifer’s cage?”

Sam’s face fell. “Our brother. Adam.”

“Geez, there’s another of you guys?” Kevin rolled his eyes. “Do Winchesters just, like, enjoy tossing themselves into Hell? I mean it’s like a pastime with you.”

Sam flinched and nodded. “I’m gonna… wait outside.”

“Be there in a minute.” Dean could almost see the waves of guilt pouring from his little brother and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“What’d I say?” Kevin asked and actually meant it. The kicked-puppy look that had appeared on Sam’s face had hit him straight in the gut, and he had the sudden urge to apologize for anything.

“Adam was Michael’s vessel.” Dean looked at the closed door and back to Kevin. “When Sam took his swan dive into the Cage, Michael tried to stop him and Sam had to drag him down too… him and Adam. No choice.”

“Wow,” Kevin whispered and frowned. “That’s kind of shitty.”

“Yeah.” Dean folded the paper and shoved it into his jacket. “You need anything -- supplies or whatever -- before we do this?”

Kevin shook his head and glanced back to the tablet. “No. Garth’ll be here tomorrow. I’m good. You should probably go after him or something. Not that I care.”

Dean smiled knowingly. “Right. Keep translatin’, Kevin.” He clapped a hand to the kid’s shoulder and went after his brother.

“I’m gonna die,” Kevin said to himself once the door clanged closed. He stared down unhappily at the tablet and leaned back in his chair. “No doubt about it. They’re gonna get me all nobly killed or something. Shit. I hate my life.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean watched Sam carefully as they drove. Sam was reading… rereading… the ritual Kevin had given them for probably the fiftieth time and doing his best to not look completely freaked out. Of course, Dean had known the kid literally since the moment he popped screaming into the world, and he wasn’t buying it. “Sam.”

“This is doable,” Sam said, distractedly, as he committed the words of the spells to memory. There were two and both in Enochian. Distantly, he wondered how uncomfortable Dean would be if he knew Sam spoke it fluently after his time trapped with the two archangels. He was pretty sure his mastery of it even surpassed Castiel, but it wasn’t something he much wanted confirmation on, given how he had learned it.

“Sam!”

“What?” Sam jerked his head up in surprise when a fist collided with his shoulder. “Dean, what the hell?”

“Well, that’s kind of the question here, ain’t it? Hell. You ok?” Dean took his eyes off the road again to meet Sam’s and raised a brow, waiting.

“I’m fine.”

“Wow. Didn’t see that one coming a mile away.” Dean rolled his eyes and looked back to the road. “I call bullshit, Sammy.”

Sam blew out an annoyed breath through his nose and let the paper flutter to the seat between them. “Ok. Fine. I’m not… fine. I’m…” He broke off and looked down at his hands, turning his left over so he could see the fading scar on his palm and remembered the significance it had once held. “I’m dealing. I can do this.”

“I know you can,” Dean said it quickly and firmly so that Sam would have no doubt he believed it.

“It’s not actually a time limit built into the ritual.”

“Huh?” Dean asked, confused as Sam’s brain seemed it had decided to jump the rails.

“The time limit Kevin was talking about. He added it into the spell.” Sam shrugged and glanced down at the paper. “It’s artificial. He added it in to give us an absolute way out in case… in case I can’t actually speak the spell… for some reason.”

“He wrote that in there?” Dean asked in voice tight with emotion because the ‘some reason’ was Lucifer doing unspeakable things to his little brother and he couldn’t afford to think too hard about that right then.

“No.” Sam shook his head and smiled. “He, uh… he snuck it in.” He chuckled. “I think he was worried.”

Dean snorted and gave a smile of his own. “Remind me to cook for that kid next time.” He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the wheel. “So where should we do this?”

“Anywhere in theory but Kevin’s notes say doing it somewhere where we know there’s a gate to hell will make the transition easier.” Sam glanced over at his brother and saw Dean’s jaw tighten. “Lucky us, we know where one is.”

“Yeah. Lucky us.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam stood back beside his brother and looked at the door that had caused his family such misery. The old cowboy cemetery looked the same as it did all those years ago, though this time they were there in the daylight. The cold, Wyoming sun did little to make the place look less sinister to his eyes. He could still vividly remember the demons pouring from the open gate in a black cloud, his brother finally killing Azazel, and his father. Sam took a deep breath and wondered what John Winchester would make of the choices his sons had made in the years since, if he would still think Sam was worth saving. Dean had gone to Hell for him because of this, and Sam couldn’t help but be sucked back into that remembered misery for a moment -- the hopelessness of knowing he was going to lose his big brother forever to eternal torment.

“Hey.” Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “We can put this off for a few more days. Don’t have to do it now.”

Sam blew out a breath and smiled as he shook his head. “Won’t make it any easier.” He looked down at the symbols and sigils he had drawn in the hard ground and nodded. “It’s ready now anyway. Nothing left to do but say the words.” They stood in the center of what was basically a modified devil’s trap, from what Sam could tell. He’d spent two days trying to identify all of the symbols Kevin had given him, but there were still a few he didn’t recognize. “I don’t want you to see this,” he said softly.

“I know, but I’m coming.” Dean grabbed his brother’s hand, knowing he had to hold onto him in order to be pulled along with the spell. “You’re not facin’ that bastard alone, Sammy. I was there for you before. I’m gonna be here now.”

Sam smiled and took a deep, steadying breath as he squeezed Dean’s hand and, for a moment, felt all of ten years old and remembered the feeling of security that had come with the sure, absolute belief that Dean could fix anything. And despite all that they had been through, all of the missteps, bad choices, and near catastrophic failures, he suddenly realized that somewhere, deep down, that unshakeable belief was still there as if etched into his very soul, and he felt a bit of calmness settle into him. He didn’t have to ask if Dean was ready. He was, and Sam began the incantation. “Odo oiad ametajisa as chdr dlvgar ovoars ol baltoh ollor…”

The Enochian flowed off of Sam’s tongue as though he’d spoken it since birth. Dean shivered with the knowledge of how Sam had become so fluent, and then he gasped when the ground seemed to fall away beneath them. There was a rush of light and sound that took his senses away, and the only thing Dean could still feel was his hand gripped painfully tight around his brother’s. The light darkened around him, turning to flames. The sound of rushing wind became a roil of screams, and the blood froze in Dean’s veins because it was too familiar; they were passing through Hell. Images burned into his retinas, like looking at the sun too long -- horror and torture, souls on the rack begging for release, and he heard his own voice among them like a memory.

Sam felt his brother’s hand spasm and clench even harder around his as they fell. He tightened his grip and knew he was likely grinding bones together, but he didn’t think Dean would mind. It was the only contact for either of them amidst the literal Hell they were tumbling through. Sam knew the moment they reached the Cage. He felt it suddenly, like a freezing, burning pressure against his skin and his mind. He felt a sheer moment of terror where it seemed it was going to shred him into pieces and then they were through. Reality rushed back in as he tumbled into a heap with his brother and Sam gasped in a breath. It reeked of brimstone and sulfur and blood and he gagged.

Dean shook his head and opened his eyes against a blinding headache. The first thing he became aware of was Sam against his side and the sound of retching. “Crap.” Dean forced his body to move and slid an arm over his brother’s heaving shoulders. “Easy. Breathe, Sammy. Just… take it easy.” He kept his voice low and soothing as a counter to the sounds around them. Dean looked up and it was like tripping on really bad acid. The world seemed to waver around him, nothing coming into clear focus but the smells… Oh, did Dean remember those, and he swallowed hard against the bile that rose up his throat. “Sam. Hey.”

“M’alright. Sorry. Sorry.” Sam gasped and leaned back into his brother’s arm. He spit once and tried not to look too hard at the ‘ground’ they were sitting on. Hell and the Cage were flesh and blood and bone, as Meg had once told them. She hadn’t been exaggerating. They were places designed to break the human psyche with a parade of horrors. “I’m ok.” He sat back on his heels and let Dean pull him to his feet. Sam stood, looked up and shuddered so hard he staggered into his brother. “Didn’t… I did not miss those.”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze and resisted the urge to run in terror. Impossibly long lengths of chain coiled and writhed above them like they were alive. They crackled with hellfire and Dean’s body ached with too easily remembered agony. “Holy crap. I’m with you on that one!” Sam glanced at Dean, reminded once again that he was not alone in the horror show of memories of Hell. Their eyes locked and held for a moment, whether sharing strength or horror or grief, neither one was sure. Maybe all three. Finally, Deanshook himself and took a firm hold of Sam’s arm. “Ok. Where are we goin’, Sammy? Sam. Talk to me.”

Sam closed his eyes for just a moment and then opened them again. “Right. Uh…” He looked around at the terrifying vista surrounding them and nodded to a place where white light was flashing blindingly amid the red and black storm of superheated air. “There. Come on.” He forced his legs to move when all they wanted to do was crumple. Every step he took, a fresh memory of his time there rose up to choke him.

Dean kept his hold of Sam’s arm and suffered for him with every tremor he felt shudder through his brother’s body. Along with that feeling came pride for a kid who had suffered what Sam had and was still somehow brave enough to face it all again. He slowed when Sam did when frost began to creep across the surface on which they walked and Lucifer’s words in Detroit came back to Dean with like a physical blow; ‘I burn cold.’ “Son of a bitch,” Dean breathed.

“It’s… it’s ok. They’re, uh…” Sam swallowed and scrubbed his free hand over his face then pointed out to the lights still flashing. “They’re fighting like I hoped. Come on, he… Adam, he’ll be…” Sam shook his head and couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat when he spotted the huddled figure that appeared out of the smoke cloud. He pulled Dean along with him, afraid to lose contact with his brother in that place, and broke into a run. Sam kept his eyes on Adam as they neared, and once they reached him, he slowed to a stop and slid to his knees beside him. “Adam.”

“God.” The word punched out of Dean’s chest with his first sight of the little brother he’d never gotten the chance to truly know. Adam was hunched over himself with his arms wrapped around his chest, covered in blood and soot from head to toe and naked. He was the picture of broken misery. The part of his heart dedicated to keeping Sam safe gave a painful thump of recognition; here was a little brother he had failed to protect and left behind. The circumstances didn’t matter as the guilt threatened to steal what was left of his breath.

“Adam.” Sam reached out slowly and made sure the boy could see his hand so as not to surprise him. Once Adam’s eyes made contact with his hand, Sam laid his hand gently over the knee under his brother’s chin. “Adam, we’re here.”

Adam’s eyes flicked up to Sam’s face and then over to Dean’s as he knelt beside them and back to Sam. He started to shake his head and dropped his face into the cover of his knees. “No, no, no, no, no. Run. Run, go away. Run. Doesn’t matter if you run. Always finds… go away, please, please, please.”

Sam swallowed a sob as tears ran down his face with Adam’s frantic words. “No. Adam, please. We’re really here. We’ve come to get you out. You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“No!” Adam lunged up and shoved Sam so he fell onto his back and moved up, straddling his legs as he pushed down on his brother’s chest and cried as he shouted. “Always tell you to run and you always stay! Always stand in front of me! Stop, Sam! You have to… just makes it worse! Stop fighting for me!”

Dean felt tears run down his own cheeks. It didn’t surprise him in the least to learn that Sam had tried to protect Adam in the Cage, however impossible it may have been. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then moved to take a careful hold of Adam and ease him off of Sam. “Adam. Stop, man. Stop. Easy.” He pulled the younger man back and somehow wasn’t surprised at all when Adam seemed to collapse in against him like his strings had been cut. He huddled against Dean’s chest like he was hiding. “We’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok.”

“No. No.” Adam squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head even as he listened to the thump of Dean’s heart under his ear. “Know you’re not him. I know. Always the same trick.” But he didn’t care just then. He’d take the moment of comfort before the pain while he had it.

Sam rolled off his back and met Dean’s miserable gaze over Adam’s head. “He thinks you’re him.”

Dean nodded. “I know.” He tightened his arms around Adam, uncaring for the fact he was bare. The kid had earned some damn comfort from him and then some. “We got him. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah.” Sam took hold of Dean’s arm and then Adam’s and closed his eyes. “Odo oiad…”

“Where do you think you’re going, bunk buddy?”

Sam jolted hard enough with that voice to knock him off balance and only his grip on his brothers kept him from falling over. He turned his head slowly and came face to face with Lucifer, wearing poor Nick’s body as he often had with Sam. “No.”

“What a delightful surprise. However did you manage it?And you brought me a new toy. Sam. I’m touched.” Lucifer chuckled and let his eyes fall on Dean with a feral gleam. “All the Winchesters at once and just for me. Is it my birthday?” He clapped his hands together and grinned. “Looks like I get to have some fun while my own dear brother is off licking his wounds. How about I play with yours instead?”

Sam shook his head and glared at the Devil. “Odo oiad ametajisa…”

“I don’t think so, Sammy.” Lucifer said darkly. Sam’s voice broke off on a gasp of horror as one of the smoking chains broke loose above them and arrowed down toward Dean’s unprotected back. “NO!” Sam screamed and threw himself in its path.

Dean turned and watched in horror as the chain coiled itself around his little brother and squeezed. “Sam!” He could see smoke rising from Sam’s clothes as it burned through them. Adam jerked in his arms when Sam screamed. “Let him go, you son of a bitch!”

“Wait your turn,” Lucifer sneered at Dean and put a hand out to Sam’s chest between the loops of chain. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You didn’t really think you’d gotten out, did you? I have to say, this is one of my better games.”

“N-no,” Sam stammered but his heart began to jack-rabbit in his chest painfully as Lucifer simply smiled and drove his finger into his chest. He felt the once familiar sensation of ice spreading inside him and threw his head back on another scream.

“Honestly, tiger. I’m impressed with myself. I mean…” Lucifer laughed and shook his head as he stared sadly into Sam’s eyes. “… I actually convinced you you were out and THEN convinced you to dive right back in all on your own. When I’m good, I’m good.”

“Don’t you believe him, Sammy! You hear me?” Dean shouted. He tried to stand but Adam had too firm a grip on his arms as the kid shook in terror. “He’s lying, Sam! Say the damn spell!”

Sam’s body shook like it was seizing as Lucifer’s cold fed into his body through the hole in his chest. “N-no. Out… Dean… got me out. Lying.” Even as he spoke the words, he wondered. Dean’s voice rose behind him, calling his name and Sam couldn’t even turn his head to see his brother.

“Am I, Sammy?” Lucifer put his free hand up and curved it almost gently around Sam’s face in a mockery of tenderness. “We always have the best fun when you sacrifice yourself to save Adam. I thought, how much more fun would it be if you could do it for Dean?” He rubbed his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone until the skin turned white with cold and smiled. “Call this my little gift to you.”

Dean pulled himself to his feet in spite of Adam and brought the kid up with him. “Sam!” He flinched when his brother screamed again. “Stop it!”

“I can play with you, Sam.” Lucifer took hold of Sam’s chin and pulled his face down to meet his panicked eyes. “Or I can play with Dean and Adam while you watch. Your choice.” He watched the light flicker in Sam’s eyes and grinned with triumph when Sam gave him a short, agonized nod.

“NO!” Adam screamed suddenly. He wrenched himself free of Dean and ran to Sam. He couldn’t watch it again. He wrapped his arms around Sam, heedless of the hellfire chains as they started to burn his flesh and held on tightly. “Me. Take me. Take me first. I’ll go first. Please. Sorry. I’m sorry, Sam.”

Dean took a step and staggered as he felt an odd pulling sensation in his gut. It dawned on him then; Kevin had worked a time limit into the ritual and it was kicking in. “You’re done, asshole,” Dean snarled and strode forward. He glared into Lucifer’s face and grabbed hold of Sam’s arm between the links of the chain. He could feel the heat begin to redden his hand and ignored it. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before himself. He took hold of Adam with his other hand while the pulling sensation in his stomach strengthened.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch what doesn’t belong to you, Dean?” Lucifer glared at the eldest Winchester and raised a hand up to the chains still writhing above them.

“They’re mine and you’re never getting your claws into my family again.” Dean tightened his grip on both his brothers as white light erupted around them and wind like a tornado tore them from the ground and into the air. The chains holding Sam disintegrated in the light and fell away. Lucifer’s roar followed them as they rose up and up and out of the Cage; the Devil enraged at losing his prize a second time.

Sam’s eyes jerked open in fear as he slammed hard into the ground and what little breath he had was knocked from him. He blinked furiously and arched his back, trying to draw in a breath and latched on to Dean’s eyes when his brother suddenly leaned over him.

“Sam? Sammy! Breathe, dammit!” Dean pulled Sam up and thumped him hard in the middle of his back. Sam jerked backward and sucked in a huge breath. It came back out in an almost scream and Dean cringed. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re ok. You’re out. We’re out. You’re safe.” Dean held him close, trying to find somewhere to touch his brother that wouldn’t cause him more pain and finally gave up as he just wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in. “Slow it down now. Come on. You’re out.”

Sam nodded furiously and took a few ragged breaths before finally finding a measure of control. He clasped a hand around Dean’s forearm and sat up on his own. “Adam.”

“Holy shit!”

Dean whipped his head around and stared in surprise to find Kevin standing a few feet away. “Kevin?”

“You know you two jerks have been gone for a week?” Kevin shook his head and took a step closer to them. He raised a hand and pointed. “So is that… geez, is that a person?”

“A week? Holy crap. Friggin trials crap screwin’ with everything. It’s supposed to be the other way around dammit!” Dean turned back and loosened his grip when Sam turned and moved toward the shivering, huddled, filthy lump that was their younger brother.

“Adam,” Sam crawled the few feet to the kid and sat stiffly in front of him. “Adam, you’re safe now, and I’m… I’m gonna send you somewhere better.” He took Adam’s face carefully in his hands and turned it so he could see him. “Adam. It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything. I’m… I just… before you go, I want you to know… I’m sorry,” Sam whispered and smiled when Adam’s eyes slowly opened to look blearily up at him. “I hope you can remember that. I never wanted to drag you down with me. I never meant…” Sam dropped his own eyes and sighed before looking up again. “I’m gonna send you to your mom now.”

Dean moved to them and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. He knew there was no keeping him with them, even if the trials didn’t demand he go to Heaven. Adam had spent even more time than Sam in the Cage. Saving his mind would be impossible. “You did good, Adam.” Dean squeezed his shoulder and gave him a sad smile and the only gift he could think of. “We’re proud of you, kiddo. Dad would be too. You did good.”

Sam blinked back fresh tears and picked Adam’s head up so he could see his eyes while he spoke the words that would release him. “Kah Nah Om Dar,” he spoke slowly and watched as Adam’s tormented eyes opened wide. The terror and madness seemed to seep away and Adam’s skin began to glow. As Adam’s body dissolved into light, Sam saw a smile spread across his face before he was gone. The light rose up into the air and higher into the sky, out of sight and finally to the peace of Heaven where he’d belonged all along. Sam took a breath in relief and then pain slammed through him from his arm, just like the last time and he crumpled.

“Sammy?” Dean took Sam’s shoulder as his brother seemed to collapse in on himself and pulled until Sam was curled against his chest. He grimaced, still able to smell burnt flesh coming from Sam’s body and a few curls of smoke wended up from his shredded clothes.

Kevin tore his eyes away from the sky and went over to the brothers to kneel next to them. “He alright? He looks like hell.” He laughed uneasily and ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, bad choice of words. I mean, is he… can I do something?”

“He’ll be ok,” Dean said firmly and looked up at Kevin finally. “You shouldn’t be here, Kev. It’s dangerous.” He managed a small smile and put a hand out to clap him on the shoulder. “But I’m glad you showed, man. Let me get the sasquatch back on his feet and we’ll get you somewhere safe ‘til we can get you back.”

“Dean.” Sam felt like a child for curling into his brother the way he was, but he hurt, he still felt the terror from being back in the Cage, he was freezing, and he couldn’t seem to convince his body to pull away. “C-cold.”

“What happened to him?” Kevin asked as he took in Sam’s appearance. His clothes looked like they’d been burned clean through in some places, and, as Dean managed to unbend him, Kevin saw blood and what looked like frost on his chest. “Shit. What the hell did that?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Dean said darkly. He grimaced, pulling the ruin of Sam’s shirts away from his chest and saw the hole Lucifer had left there. Sam’s skin felt like ice and he was clearly suffering hypothermia in spite of the hellfire on the chains. “Gotta get you cleaned up and warm, Sammy. You walk if I help?”

“G-get away from here… I c-can wa… walk.” Sam wrapped his hands in his brother’s jacket and gave him a nod.

“Hey, Kev. Grab his other arm, but be careful.” Dean gestured to Sam’s other arm. “He’s burned and I don’t know how bad.”

“It’s not… not that b-bad.” Sam’s teeth chattered and he had to clench them together to hold in the moan of pain while Dean and Kevin dragged him slowly up to his feet.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said kindly and braced his little brother’s body when he swayed. For Sam, he pushed back his own trauma that their trip into the Cage had caused him. It was nothing in comparison, he knew. “Hang on to us.”

Kevin struggled to find somewhere to hold onto Sam that wouldn’t hurt him, but his choices were limited. “Uh, don’t fall on me or anything, ok? You’re like a tree.”

Sam looked wearily down at Kevin and surprised himself with the ability to smile and huff a small laugh. “Just k-keep me from… from fallin’ sideways. S’ok.”

“My baby still where I left her?” Dean asked Kevin and smiled when he nodded. “Let’s go home, Sammy.”

The walk to the car took longer than it should with Dean and Kevin supporting most of Sam’s weight during the walk. Dean kept a watchful eye on him and tried not to drown in fear with the way Sam was still quaking under his arm from the cold Lucifer had shoved into him. He didn’t even want to imagine Sam spending nearly two centuries going through that and so much worse. In a way, he envied Adam. He was at peace finally and wouldn’t have to try and find a way to live with the horrors in his head.

“Hey, Sam. Keep walkin’,” Dean coached when Sam’s legs started to buckle under him. He heard Sam mumble something with his head down on his chest, but his legs straightened and Dean smiled. “That’s it. Almost there, buddy.” He nearly sagged himself with relief when they reached the Impala and he took in the welcome sight of their car like they were coming home. “Here we go. Hang on.” Dean opened the passenger door, knowing that Sam would protest if he tried to put him in the backseat.

Sam groaned and the action of bending to get in the car, even with their help, was enough to snap him out of the twilight of half-sleep he’d slipped into. “Dean.”

“Right here, buddy. Right here. Hey.” Dean leaned his brother against the seat and leaned in so Sam could see him. He glanced back out at Kevin and dug the keys out of his pocket. “You grab a blanket and the first aid kit out of the trunk for me?”

Kevin took the keys and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” He went to the trunk and fumbled the keys in the lock, absently listening to Dean’s voice as he talked to his brother and it was a tone of voice he rarely heard, soothing… comforting, like a parent reassuring a child. Kevin grabbed the blanket and the first aid kit and went back around the car and almost felt like an intruder. Dean knelt beside the open door, holding Sam’s face in his hands while he spoke softly to him. “Hey, uh… blanket?”

“Thanks, Kev.” Dean grabbed the blanket and quickly spread it over his brother, tucking it in around him. “Sammy, you good?” He smirked at the muted bitch-face Sam gave him as if to say ‘what do you think?’ and nodded. “Yeah, I know. You will be.” He took the kit from Kevin and set it on the ground next to him. “Go around and turn the car on, man. Get the heater running. You gotta be cold too, sittin’ out here waiting for us. Go on.”

Kevin dashed around the car, opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel as he closed it. He shoved the keys in the ignition, started the car and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel with a little smile.

“Sounds pretty when she purrs, doesn’t she?” Dean said and chuckled when Kevin looked over at him in surprise. “You do all your homework, I might let you drive her sometime.”

“He’s lying,” Sam said suddenly and rolled his head over to look at his brother. “N-never le’me d-drive her ‘til I’d c… cleaned her.”

“Can’t drive a baby like this ‘til you make her pretty, Sammy.” Dean took comfort in the fact Sam was lucid enough to joke with him and Kevin and pulled gauze out of the kit as the first warm air blew out of the vents. He smiled and nodded gratefully when Kevin turned all the vents to aim at Sam.

“Think you spend too much alone time with your car, Dean.” Kevin smiled and turned in the seat, shivering as he warmed inside the car. He got a better look at Sam under the Impala’s dome light and grimaced as Dean pulled his brother’s shirts apart to get at his chest. Oddly shaped burns crossed his chest and stomach three times and the more Kevin looked, the more he began to see a pattern and it made him shiver again. “Are those… was it a chain?”

“Yeah,” Dean said and didn’t elaborate. Kevin didn’t need any more nightmares in his head. “We’ll cool these down when we get to a motel, ok?” He caught Sam’s eyes and nodded. “I’m more worried about this.” He cleaned blood away from the puncture Lucifer had left in Sam’s chest and glared at it. “You’re frostbit. Gonna hurt like hell when it heals.”

Sam nodded. He knew. His whole body felt cold down to his bones and he hoped he would never again have to feel so cold, so lost. He flinched under Dean’s ministrations and let himself start slipping toward exhausted sleep again with his brother’s voice in his ear.

“Go to sleep, Sammy,” Dean said softly when he saw Sam’s eyes begin to close again. “You’re safe. I gotcha.”

“Is he really gonna be alright?” Kevin whispered once it seemed Sam had nodded off.

Dean dropped the bloody gauze to the ground and packed the kit up, tucking it into the foot well and then pulled the blanket up to Sam’s chin to keep him warm. “Yeah. He’ll be alright eventually.” He rested a hand on the side of his little brother’s neck for a moment to settle himself and shook his head fondly when Sam sleepily turned his head into his hand. “Climb in the back.” Dean pushed the passenger door gently closed and made his way around, getting in behind the wheel as Kevin’s feet vanished over the seat.

“Kevin.” Dean pulled the door closed and put his hands on the wheel before meeting Kevin’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “You did good. That time limit you put into the ritual…” He shook his head and blew out a breath. “… saved our asses, man.”

“You’re welcome.” Kevin leaned back into the seat as Dean eased the Impala away from the cemetery. He looked at the backs of the brother’s heads and realized that he didn’t just feel like the prophet they were sitting on to get what they wanted; he felt like family. And even though he’d left the barge and been terrified that Crowley would find him every minute that he was away from the protection it offered, he felt protected right then. He knew Dean and Sam both would go down fighting without a question to keep him safe if it came to it. He looked back up as Dean slid an arm across the seat to keep a hand on Sam’s neck and smiled to himself.

“You alright back there, genius?” Dean asked with a smirk.

Kevin nodded. “Yeah. Hey, could you do me a favor?”

Dean frowned slightly. “Anything. What do you need?”

Kevin gave a small laugh because Dean meant it. Anything Kevin wanted, Dean would find a way. “Can you tell Garth to stop hugging me? Makes me feel like a need a shower every time he leaves the barge.”

Dean laughed at that and shook his head. “Kevin, dude. Get used to it. That man’s got a worse sense of personal space than Cas, and that’s sayin’ something.”

“Yeah.” Kevin chuckled and looked at Dean in the mirror. “Dean? Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Just… nothing. That’s all. Thanks.”

Dean watched Kevin until the kid’s eyes dropped and he smiled again. Kevin didn’t have to say it. He’d seen that same look on Sam’s face over and over his whole life. He nodded solemnly to Kevin in the mirror and put his eyes back on the road. They were one step closer to finishing the trials and slamming the gates of Hell permanently, they’d escaped the Cage, and his family… all of his family… was where they belonged. He smiled and drove on.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** Colby’s Girl

Loose translations for the Enochian in the story:

 **Odo oiad ametajisa as chdr dlvgar ovoars ol baltoh ollor -** Open the seal that was closed and give passage to the righteous man.

 **Kah nah om dar -** We work as your instrument (Taken directly from the show)


	24. For Colby's Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Colby’s Girl - For my story I would like to go back to season one when Dean is just getting his big bro radar back and a hurt Sam that solidifies their return to old. Too vague?
> 
> A/N: There’s no such thing as too vague! You know how I love whumping Sam in season 1 before all the angst and heavy stuff. :D

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The factory was still and silent except for the sound of heavy footfalls. Dean Winchester came to a sliding stop outside a door and aimed his flashlight inside. “Fast son of a bitch. Where the hell’d it go?”

Sam stopped beside his brother and shook his head. “I dunno. This place is big. I’ll take the second floor.”

“Hey.”

“Dude.” Sam smirked at his brother and checked the clip on his gun. “I run faster than you anyway. If it went up, I’ve got a better chance of catching it. See ya!”

Dean watched his little brother sprint off toward the stairs and snarled. “Pain in my ass, Sammy. I am not slow.” He started down the hall again and watched his brother race up the stairs, easily skipping three and four treads at a time with those freakishly long legs of his before he was out of sight.   
  
“Friggin black dogs. Damn, I hate these things. Come on, ugly!” Dean called and jogged down the hall and past the stairs. “Come get some tasty Winchester!” He yelled and chuckled and kept his gun with its consecrated iron rounds ahead of him. “I’ve got Scooby snacks!”

Upstairs, Sam rolled his eyes with a soft laugh as he listened to his brother’s taunts echoing through the dusty, abandoned facility. “Loudmouth jerk,” he muttered fondly, and warily checked the next room he passed. He’d missed his big brother and his blustering bravado, not that he would ever admit that to Dean. Dean, even at his most frustrating -- or maybe especially then -- was comforting to Sam in a way that was difficult to define. It was like his big brother was telling him the only way he knew how that, though Sam was broken over Jess’ death, Dean knew he’d come back from it, trusted him to be strong enough to come back from it. Sam smiled to himself and shook his head. Dean had believed he’d make it through, even when Sam himself had doubted it, and that faith had made all the difference.

“Nice, Sam,” he grumbled at himself. “Hunting a lethal killer and you’ve gotta go all Oprah sharing and caring in your head. Wouldn’t Dean be proud of me?” He rolled his eyes at himself and stopped to glance in the next room, again finding nothing. The second floor of the old factory was in even worse repair than the first, and Sam had to duck under beams beginning to fall from the ceiling. Wires dangled like tropical vines in places, and he cautiously moved around them, wary of any lingering power that could drop him like a super-powered taser.

Sam ducked under another low hanging section of ceiling and had to crawl beneath a span of fallen ductwork. He sneezed through a face full of dust. “This place sucks.” He could still hear Dean’s voice on the floor below, further away and still taunting the black dog, wherever it had run off to. He straightened on the uneven, cluttered floor and swept the beam of his flashlight along the hall. It opened into a large room. Sam stepped through the door, leading with his gun, and froze as a low, haunting growl came from behind.

“Shit,” he whispered. Sam closed his eyes momentarily, took a breath and spun as he brought his gun to bear. Before he could draw a bead on the beast, the black dog’s paw lashed out and slammed Sam’s gun hand to the side. The force of the impact knocked the weapon loose and Sam staggered back a step to get out of harm’s way if he could.

The black dog rushed into the room with its snarling jaws wide and dripping as it came for him. Sam delivered a hard kick to the side of its head. The force of the impact traveled back up his leg to his hip and he stumbled back a step, regaining his balance. Sam readied himself for another kick as the dog rounded on him and jerked his eyes down to the floor as it cracked beneath him.

“No, no, no.” Sam had a moment to fully appreciate the terror of what was about to happen, to lock eyes with the snarling creature in front of him, and then the floor gave way. Rotted wood and crumpled metal collapsed under his weight and he fell. Sam slapped his arms out to either side to try and stop and keep from falling what would likely be a dozen feet or more to the level below. He shouted in pain and surprise when he felt something sharp drag up the outside of his left thigh and something else pierce into his chest.

Sam blinked his eyes open to find he was stuck half in the floor and half out with his legs no doubt dangling from the ceiling of the level below. He was wedged tight into the hole, held firmly in place by the jagged bits of wood and metal around him. “Crap,” Sam gasped. He sucked in a deep breath and it punched out of him in sudden pain. He looked down at himself and his dazed mind took several seconds to make sense of what he was seeing. A piece of rebar angled out from the gap Sam’s body had created and was jammed into his chest, just below the left side of his sternum. He could feel blood trickling down his stomach to soak into the top of his jeans.

“Shit!” Sam pushed with his arms, trying to lift himself and gave a strangled cry when it forced him further onto the rebar, pushing it a little further into his body. He stopped his struggles and stilled. Sam worked one hand down to hold onto the thing and tried to catch his breath in short pants. If he moved much more, the metal would slide up and pierce his heart. “Dean,” Sam’s voice was a breathless gasp. He looked back up and the black dog was still there. It circled him, sniffing at the collapsed floor and Sam as it moved, and then it backed away from Sam with what sounded suspiciously like the canine version of a laugh. It knew he wasn’t going anywhere, knew he was helpless.

“Come on,” Sam urged. He’d rather it happen fast than to die being slowly impaled. To his surprise, the creature shook its head, turned its back on him and sprang out the door and back into the hall. Sam could hear its feet slapping the floor as it moved further away; it was going for his brother now that Sam was no longer a threat. “Dean.” He used the hand not stopping the rod from completely impaling him and started the slow, painful process of getting to his cell phone in his jacket and wondered if he could reach it without accidentally killing himself.

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Dean turned back toward the other end of the factory when he heard a muffled sound in the distance, something like debris falling to the floor. He frowned, only then realizing just how far he had come in his search for the black dog -- how far away from Sam he’d gotten. “Dammit.” He had a sudden, distinct need to find his little brother. It was no particular thing he could name, just a gut feeling -- an old instinct that had only recently started to come back online in the last couple weeks since Sam had come back on the road with him. As a teenager, Sam had called it Dean’s annoying little brother radar, but it had saved said little brother’s life more than once, and Dean trusted it now.

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled with a fond smirk but it fell away quickly and he started back at a quick walk the way he’d come. That radar was beginning to go off now, like a pulse at the back of his mind telling him something was wrong. He pulled out his phone as he moved and dialed his brother, then stopped when a low growling filled the air around him. “Great timing. Dammit!” Dean backed away slowly with his gun up and the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. “Sammy! Where are you?” Dean asked softly when his brother’s phone picked up. “Big ugly’s down here with me. Get your ass back down here.”

_“Uh… can’t right now.” Sam’s voice came through the phone tinny and sounding a little breathless._

“Sam? What’s goin’ on?” Dean asked and then cursed as the black dog suddenly appeared out of the shadows. He fired off two rounds, hitting it once in the hindquarters and it raced back into the shadows. “Damn. Sammy?”

_“I’m fine. Just got a little… hung up. I’m good, Dean. Stop screwing around and gank the dog already.”_

Dean scowled when his little brother hung up on him and quickly pocketed the phone as his bad feeling became worse. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked softly and shook his head. The black dog chose that moment to reappear, and Dean snarled with the need to get back to his brother. He tracked the beast’s faster-than-possible movements as it circled him and wished Sam was there to catch the thing in a damn crossfire. They could have had this over by now together.

“Dammit, would you stand still and die already?” Dean said angrily as he loosed another round at the black dog only to have it lurch away from him and continue stalking him around the room while it growled. “I do not have time for you!” Rationally, he told himself that if Sam was in any true danger, his little brother would have told him. The part of his mind attuned to Sam’s well-being, however, was rarely rational and rarely wrong and was now screaming at him loud enough to make Dean’s nerves sing with tension. He’d almost forgotten what that feeling felt like since Sam had gone to college.

Dean lunged to his left and out of the way as the black dog made a flying leap toward his head. “Oh, you bastard!” He brought his gun up as he rolled and fired at the beast before it could land. A lifetime of training let him aim true, and the dog’s head jerked to the side as blood and darker things sprayed through the air. It hit the ground with a thump and rolled to a stop, still.

Dean regained his feet and cautiously went closer. He shot twice more into its chest, knowing he hit the heart and then gave the carcass a nudge with his boot. “Gonna enjoy salting and burning your ugly ass later.” He turned on his heel and took off at a run for the stairs to the upper level.

“Sam!” Dean shouted and frowned when he didn’t hear any reply. He pounded up the stairs, not bothering to catch his breath on the landing and slid into the hall at the top. “Sammy! Where are you? Talk to me!”

“Here!”

Dean lurched into motion toward the muffled sound of his little brother’s voice at the other end of the building. “I’m coming!” Sam’s voice sounded wrong somehow. Dean could hear the thread of pain in it and picked up his pace. He cursed soundly as he had to duck under hanging cables and pipes, crawl of debris and finally saw a door at the end of the hall. He straightened and ran for it and then slid to a stop while fear sank into his gut like a stone.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean breathed as he took in the sight of his little brother sunk up to his chest in the floor and his cell phone lying discarded on the floor beside him.

“Dean,” Sam nearly sobbed it in relief and closed his eyes.

“Right here. Hey.” Dean moved carefully over the floor until he could kneel beside him. Sam’s face was pale and covered in a sweat. Lines of pain had dug in around his eyes, and the look in them as Sam’s eyes opened and met his again was fearful.

“S’bad.” Sam swallowed hard. “You get the dog?”

Dean nodded and leaned down for a better look. “Yeah. Full of holes downstairs. Why the hell didn’t you tell me on the phone?”

Sam shook his head. “Didn’t wan… want to… distract you. Too dangerous.”

“What’s goin’ on here?” Dean asked and ignored the part where Sam had left himself helpless to protect him. It pissed him off, but he’d save that rant up for later when they were out of there and he knew Sam was going to be okay. “How come you haven’t climbed out of here yet?”

“I’m, uh… kind of im… impaled here.” Sam tried for rueful -- funny even -- but it came out in a near whimper as he felt the bar shift minutely in his chest again.

Dean’s jaw fell open for a moment and he snapped it closed as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Ok. Ok, no big. You’re gonna be fine.” He leaned forward farther to look down his brother’s chest and swallowed again when his eyes landed on the iron rebar pinning him into the hole. Sam had a hold of it with one blood-soaked hand and the bar was glistening darkly as Dean set his flashlight on the floor nearby so it shone on Sam. “Don’t breathe too deep, dude,” he warned with a worried smile. Sam gave him a nod as Dean pressed a hand down the left side of his brother’s chest. He counted ribs in his head and bit his lip to keep the curse to himself when he found the bar between Sam’s fifth and sixth ribs and angled just right.

“S’gonna get my heart,” Sam told him softly. “Already… figured that out.”

“No, it’s not, dammit,” Dean said forcefully and leaned back. “I just have to lift you straight up and it’ll slide back out, no problem.”

“Right. No… no problem,” Sam snorted softly and then grimaced with the pain. “Weigh more… more than you… shorty.”

“Shuddup.” Dean lightly slapped the back of Sam’s head and moved around behind him. “Want you to blow out all the air in your lungs when I lift. It’s gonna hurt like hell, but we only got one shot at this, so try not to tense up or fight me on it.”

Sam nodded once as Dean’s hands slid under his shoulders and met across his chest. “Dean --”

“Don’t worry. I got you.” Dean tightened his grip and hoped to hell he wasn’t lying. “Now Sam.”

Sam blew out his breath, his chest deflating slightly and the metal rod emerged a few millimeters. At the same moment, Dean planted his feet and pulled him straight up. The rod dragged out of his chest in a sickening squelch and Sam took in just enough air to shout in agony.

Dean lost his balance once he had Sam’s torso out of the hole. He went backwards and landed with a thump but kept tight hold of his brother so Sam ended up resting on his chest. “Crap. Crap! Sammy?” He took one arm away long enough to push up so they were sitting and then reached around slap a hand over the freely bleeding wound on Sam’s chest. “Sam!”

Sam was gasping for breath against the burning pain in his chest, and his heart thundered in his ears above his brother’s voice. He nodded once and let his head fall back, exhausted. “M’ok.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said softly and held on to him for another minute until his own hammering heart slowed enough to let him breathe again. “Alright, I need to see how bad this is.”

“No. No, it’s… just ge’me back to the motel.” Sam was more than ready to get the hell out of the factory and tried to stop Dean from laying him down to no avail. “Dammit, Dean.”

“Put a sock in it, princess.” Dean smiled as he forced Sam back to the floor. “Stay down.” He moved quickly to grab his flashlight and was back at Sam’s side before he could do more than roll his eyes.

Sam gave up and let his head drop back to the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to take in the relief of no longer waiting to be slowly killed by an iron rod. “Crap. Careful.”

“Sorry.” Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to keep him still and turned back to the injury. He pulled his jacket off and then stripped off his flannel. “Gonna be fun stitching this up.” He folded the flannel up into a rough square and pressed it over the hole in Sam’s chest, grimacing while his little brother hissed in pain. “You’re going to the hospital, dude.”

“What? No.” Sam picked his head back up and put his own hand over the impromptu bandage.

“You had a rusty, nasty-ass, metal pipe in your chest, Sammy,” Dean said and glared him down. “We’re hitting the ER for this one. Deal with it. Come on.”

Sam groaned as Dean pulled him slowly up so he was sitting. “You’re… mother hen.”

“You’re ventilated, jackass.” Dean grunted with the effort of getting Sam to his unsteady feet. “I’m allowed. Quit whining.”

“Not whining.” Sam gritted his teeth and leaned heavily on Dean as they started down the hall. “You’re bossy.”

“And you’re leaking bodily fluids all over my favorite shirt.” Dean helped Sam duck under the debris and listened to his brother’s labored breathing worriedly. In his head were nightmares of a punctured lung and God knew what else.

“It didn’t… go in that deep,” Sam said once they reached the stairs, easily reading the concern on Dean’s face. “M’really not… not that hurt.”

Dean steadied Sam down the stairs to the main floor of the factory and ignored his protests. He was far too busy kicking himself for splitting up and trying not to shudder with the sure knowledge that if he’d wasted any more time killing the black dog, Sam could have bled out alone and died.

“Stop it.” Sam nudged his brother and smiled though his head was starting to spin with the effects of blood loss. “I’m gonna be fine and this wasn’t your fault.”

“No; it’s your fault, gigantor.” Dean smirked over at him. “Fallin’ through the damn floor like a Looney Tunes outtake.”

Sam gave a breathless chuckle and pressed his hand harder into his wound. He did his best to walk steadily beside his brother as they left and smiled when the Impala came into view. It felt old, familiar, and comforting when Dean opened the passenger door and eased him gently down into his seat. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes fondly and closed the door. Sam’s expressive eyes made it clear what he really meant was ‘I missed you,’ and Dean’s aversion to chick flicks wouldn’t let him return the sentiment openly. He tossed the guns and flashlight into the trunk and then slid behind the wheel. “You’re such a girl,” he grumbled and started the car, knowing that Sam would hear the implied ‘I missed you too’ underneath it. He reached across and landed a hand on Sam’s neck as his brother’s head dropped wearily to the back of theseat. He smirked as Sam unconsciously rolled his head into his hand. A few years apart may have made him rusty, but his instincts for taking care of Sam were still there, still strong……still such a part of his very soul that they would probably still be there when they were old and gray, assuming they made it long enough to get old and gray. But that was contemplation for another day. For now, Sam was going to be okay and they were together again, and, at the moment, that was enough for Dean.

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_The End._

**Next Up:** Murphy9202


	25. For Murphy9202

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Murphy9202 - I want an AU story set after Dean goes to Purgatory that tells what happened to Sam while Dean is gone and shortly after he comes back. Sam meets a girl (not Amelia) he eventually falls in love with, he gets a dog, and he and the girl are still together when Dean comes back. You decide if he searches for Dean or not and what else happens while Dean is gone. There needs to be some hurt or sick Sam somewhere in the story.
> 
> A/N: Somehow it’s always you asking me to rewrite the show for a reward story. LOL I think you enjoy watching me twist! HA Alrighty then! A rewrite of the beginning of season 8! Apologies for the delay on this one! Real life and arguing with the opening of my latest book got in the way. Lol

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Dean grunted with the effort of lugging his over-tall little brother up two flights of stairs to their motel room. Sam certainly hadn’t lost much in the way of muscle mass while Dean had been in Purgatory. “You know…” he stopped and sucked in a breath before heaving Sam up the rest of the stairs. “…this was easier… before you were ten feet tall.”

“M’fine,” Sam protested, but it was weak even to his own ears. He saved his breath for getting down the balcony to their room and ignoring the fiery pain in his lower back. At that moment, he felt all of the year he hadn’t spent hunting like a weight of uselessness around his neck.

“Come on.” Dean kicked open the motel room door and aimed his brother toward the far bed. “Don’t lay down yet, dammit.” He grabbed Sam’s shoulder before he could topple over into the pillows and tugged on his jacket. “Get that off, and your shirts. I ain’t undressin’ you.”

Sam managed a small smile for the comment and wearily started pulling his jacket down his arms. He grimaced, hissed a breath between his teeth, and was stuck with the jacket and his flannel around his elbows. “Crap,” he breathed and tried to wiggle out of them without moving his lower back to no avail.

Dean turned back from closing the door and watched his stoic little brother pale dramatically as he fought to get out of his jacket and sighed. “Alright. Alright. Hang on. Geez, sit still for a sec. You’re makin’ me hurt watching you.” He went back to the bed and grabbed Sam’s arms. “Hold still, dammit.”

Sam lowered his head miserably and allowed his big brother to pull his jacket and flannel off. “I’d have managed.”

“I’m sure,” Dean grumbled and tossed them to the floor before eying Sam’s t-shirt and deciding the best way to get it off. “You’ve been all independent. Don’t need me babyin’ you anymore, right? Just lay down man.”

“I can get it.”

“It’s your back, Sam. You can’t reach it yourself. Lay the hell down.” Dean gave his brother a shove and was relieved when Sam went over without more argument, lying on his stomach with a low hiss of pain.

“It’s not like that, you know,” Sam said and turned his head so he could see Dean in his peripheral vision. It had only been less than a week since his brother’s miraculous return, and like the time after Dean returned from Hell, Sam wasn’t comfortable with him out of his sight for long. It was even stronger now, he knew, that need to be sure that what he was seeing… what was happening… was actually real and not his mind screwing with him again.

“Whatever. Stay still.”

Sam closed his eyes on the dismissive tone in his big brother’s voice. He deserved that, he supposed, after the things he’d told Dean. He shivered when his brother tugged the back of his shirt up and the cooler air of the room hit his skin, and then he remembered. Sam’s eyes shot wide and he struggled up. “No. No, I can… I’ll manage.” He pushed Dean’s hand away, trying to pull his shirt back down.

“Sam, what the hell? Knock it off.” Dean shoved him back down to the bed, trying to swallow his frustration. He had noticed that, since returning from the nightmare world of purgatory, his patience, which had never been his strong suit to start with, had significantly decreased. He scowled while Sam continued to try and move away from him and pulled his little brother’s shirt up with a jerk. Dean’s eyes opened wide in shock. “What the fuck is this?” he asked hoarsely and stared down at the patchwork of old, white scars that crossed Sam’s back above the blood of the open wound. He knew every scar on his little brother’s body; he’d patched most of them up himself over the years, and these… they hadn’t been there when Dean had been sucked into Purgatory. “Sam?”

“It’s not… It’s…” Sam gave up and slumped into the bed, finally just too exhausted to keep up the pretense any longer.

“Not what?” Dean demanded and grabbed the scissors out of the first aid kit. He hastily cut up the back of the bloodied shirt and threw the halves apart to get a clear view of Sam’s back. “Because this… this looks like someone whipped you, Sam. These are… Jesus, when the hell did this happen? WHY did it happen?” He brushed his fingers over one of the marks with a dark scowl for whoever had done this to his little brother. “What aren’t you telling me, Sammy?” The instinctive need to protect that he’d been afraid had been swallowed forever by Purgatory blazed to life suddenly and took his breath away as it warmed parts of him he hadn’t realized had gone cold.

“It’s nothing,” Sam said softly.

“Don’t you give me that,” Dean said angrily even as he began to gently clean blood from the open slash mark on the small of Sam’s back. He worked to pull back the anger at seeing the scars and knowing Sam was keeping things from him… yet again. “Talk to me, Sam. When the hell did this happen?”

Sam flinched while Dean worked at cleaning the gash on his lower back and blew out a breath. “After… after you… vanished.”

“You said you quit hunting and shacked up with…” Dean shook his head. “So clearly you forgot to mention a few things.”

“Didn’t forget,” Sam said simply.

Dean studied the back of his brother’s head. He thought back to what little conversation they’d had a week back at the cabin, and with a spurt of guilt, Dean realized that he’d stopped listening to anything after Sam had said he was out of hunting and living with someone again. He remembered with vicious clarity that he hadn’t had then the look of hurt on Sam’s face when Dean had all but called him a bad brother, had accused Sam of abandoning him. Dean had spent the better part of thirty years teaching his little brother that, when Dean was hurt and pissed, there was little point in talking to him, and Sam had shut up.

“Talk to me now, Sammy,” Dean said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “I gotta stitch this up and it ain’t gonna be pretty. Tell me everything.” He blew out a breath and rolled his eyes fondly because here he was asking for the chick-flick for a change. “I got nothin’ to do but listen while I do this.”

Sam turned his head enough to see Dean’s face, expecting anger and relieved when he found patience instead. “I… I did try to find out what happened to you. I swear I did, Dean.”

Dean nodded with that heartfelt plea, with Sam sounding like he had as a child, begging his big brother to believe him. “Obviously, that didn’t go well. What happened?” And for the first time, as he asked that, he allowed himself to contemplate his little brother hunting on his own… alone… with no one left alive to watch his back or stitch closed wounds that just wouldn’t stop bleeding. And he felt fear.

Sam flinched both from the memories and the first, sharp stitch into his back. He took a breath and settled himself. “There was nothing to go on after… SucroCorpwas just empty.” He shook his head in the pillow with the remembered helplessness he’d felt back then. “The whole place was painted in that black goo, like all the leviathans just exploded at once with him.” Sam sucked in a pained gasp with a particularly painful tug of needle and thread in his back.

“Sorry.” Dean stopped and gave his brother a moment. “Skin’s jagged.” The wound was a zigzag of open, bleeding flesh several inches long, and Dean knew it had to hurt like hell. “You good?” he asked once the tremors eased of Sam’s body and picked up the needle again when Sam nodded. “I never thought about it, man. What happened after we got zapped into fight-or-die monster Disneyland.” He shook his head as he tied off yet another stitch. “Must’a been like a damn nightmare for you.”

“Thought I was crazy,” Sam whispered and slammed his eyes closed even as his right hand crept into his left on the pillow over his head and pressed the long-healed scar without being aware of the sudden need. He shuddered. “I thought… God, you were gone, Cas, all the leviathans… I thought it was all a delusion, you know? That Cas had never ‘fixed’ me in that hospital, and I was just… and you were gone and there was nothing to hold onto!”

“Hey, hey!” Dean dropped the needle and grabbed his brother’s shaking shoulder, seeing the shine of tears on the side of his face. “Sammy. I’m here, dude. I’m right here. Take it easy.” It rocked him to his core trying to picture Sam in that place and seeing his little brother in that psych ward an inch from death because of madness. Why hadn’t he even thought of that before now? What the hell was wrong with him? He pried Sam’s hands apart and waited until his little brother’s ragged breaths slowed a little again. “You’re good, Sam. No crazy train here.”

Sam huffed a small, sad laugh and nodded. “Sorry. Sorry. Yeah, I’m… shit. Sorry.”

“Forget it,” Dean said gruffly and went back to the needle. “Stop screwin’ up my stitches.” He nodded to himself, satisfied when he saw the small smile on Sam’s face. “So, the big mouths painted the walls and you…”

Sam didn’t need the prompt. “Crowley showed up for a minute.” He felt Dean jerk beside him and went on. “He, uh… he said you were dead and job well done or some crap. I wasn’t really… I think I was in shock. Anyway, he grabbed Kevin andvanished and left me…” He blew out an irritated breath into the pillow and knew he was getting to the part where Dean was going to start being angry at him and at the king of Hell. “I got out of there. Found the Impala, and…” Sam broke off for a smirk. “You really don’t wanna know what Meg did to the paintwork on your car.”

Dean ignored the attempt at distracting him and tied another stitch. He had the wound half closed now and wiped the fresh welling of blood away. “What did you do?”

“I went back to the cabin, and, uh… tried to summon Crowley.” Sam groaned. “It didn’t work. He must have figured I was going to try looking for answers. I got nothing, so I packed up and… really, don’t hit me alright?”

“Sam.”

“I went to a crossroads.”

That took a moment for Dean to fully process through his disbelief. “Are you fuckin’ crazy, Sammy?” Dean said loudly as a fresh wave of angry fear went through him. He set the needle and thread down again, not willing to risk hurting Sam more until he could get his shaking hands under control.

“Don’t worry,” Sam said miserably into the pillow. “It’s not like anyone offered me a deal.” He snorted. “I would have taken it if I’d known where you were, Dean. God, I would have… but when I summoned the crossroads demon, I got Crowley instead.” He felt Dean jerk again in response and nodded. “He was waiting for me. Cocky bastard said he knew it wouldn’t be long before I… before I broke.”

“You don’t break, Sammy,” Dean said fiercely. “I know you.”

“I broke.” Sam shook his head and kept his face turned away. “Crowley was right. I was desperate to find out what happened to you. I had to know. I’d have given anything to get you back, but he wouldn’t deal. He said…” Sam fisted his hands in the pillow and pushed himself up, no longer willing to be on his damn stomach. He sat, ignoring Dean’s attempts to stop him. “He said you were dead and that there wasn’t a demon or angel who’d even consider bringing you back and putting both Winchesters back into the game when they’d finally gotten rid of one of us.” Sam ducked his head and scowled. “He said you were in Heaven and asked me what kind of a bastard I’d be to even try and pull you out of that just for my own selfish need to not be alone.” Sam’s laugh was soft and clogged with tears. “Given what I know now, obviously, he just wanted me to stop looking. But, God help me, Dean. I believed him.”

“Jesus,” Dean breathed and wished he could have his hands around Crowley’s neck right then.

“He was right. Last man standing.” Sam laughed again and it wasn’t pleasant. “I had to bag up and deal with it. That’s when…”

Dean knew something bad was coming when Sam broke off with that tone in his voice. “This is where the scars come in, isn’t it?”

Sam nodded. “Crowley said I didn’t get to summon a demon and just walk away unscathed… not this time. He wanted to, uh, teach me a lesson in respect.” He shook his head miserably. “You never would have been caught like that. I was so pissed when they grabbed me because I knew you wouldn’t have been such an easy, damn target.”

“Why didn’t he just kill you?” Dean asked and saw his brother flinch. “Sam. I’m glad you’re still here. I just meant, he’s Crowley. Why didn’t he just kill you and be done with it?”

“He liked knowing I was still up here stumbling around like a… like a sad, lonely, broken little moose.” Sam said, easily remembering the words Crowley had used and scowled. “I really want to kill him some day.”

“Yeah.” Dean agreed darkly. “I got a few things to _thank_ that bastard for.” He looked over at the scars decorating the back of Sam’s bare, hunched shoulders again and forced down the answering rage that rose up.

“He had his demons spend a couple… uh… days… making sure I remembered to leave Crowley alone.”

“Sam.” Dean gave his brother’s arm a nudge and gave him a frustrated look. “Days?”

“Ok, a week. It’s not a big deal,” Sam said and dropped his eyes again. He’d been starving and dehydrated by the time they let him go. The demons had only given him enough water and food to barely keep him alive, and he thought it’d be a long time before he could eat beef jerky again without gagging. It was all they’d given him for sustenance.

Dean nodded in silence, needing a moment to collect the rage and stuff it away before he spoke. “How bad… I mean, you were ok, right? Other than…” he brushed his fingers over one of the scars and Sam shrugged.

This was the part, Sam knew, that was likely to make Dean blow a gasket, but he couldn’t back down from the truth; not now that Dean was actually willing to listen. “I, uh, I was pretty bad off, I guess. They left me alive, but I was a mess. They dumped me on the side of the road, middle of the night… man, it was freezing.”

Dean clenched his fists and wished he could track down the bastards who’d dumped his brother off on the side of the road like trash. The image he had in his head of Sam battered and bleeding, whipped half to death and left alone in the cold night made his protective streak scream in rage.

“I didn’t care anymore,” Sam said softly, remembering the hopelessness that had overtaken him on that lonely road. “I was just… wandering in the middle of the road, trying not to fall down, and I couldn’t… couldn’t remember what the hell I was even fighting to stay alive for at that point.” He felt Dean’s shoulder jerk against his and nodded. “I think I was just… done, you know? I didn’t have anything left to care about at that point. I mean, Crowley said you were dead… you were in Heaven, and I couldn’t pull you away from that, even if I’d been able to find away.” Sam ducked his head and smiled sadly. “And then Anne hit me with her car. Never even saw her coming.” He snorted a soft laugh and looked up at his brother’s surprised face with wet eyes.

“Excuse me? She hit you with her car?” Dean asked in surprise. “Your girlfriend ran you over, and this is your idea of ‘meet-cute’?”

Sam smiled and shook his head. “It was raining and dark and I was in the middle of the damn road, man. I’m lucky she was driving a Prius.”

Dean snorted in disgust. “No wonder it didn’t kill you. That’s like gettin’ run over by a Big Wheel.”

Sam chuckled and nodded. “She was pretty freaked. She called an ambulance, followed me to the hospital. She sat with me for like three days until they released me.” Sam smiled again fondly with the warm memory of waking up to her face each time he’d opened his eyes. It had been a balm to his wounded soul, having someone there to care whether or not he was even alive at the time. “She could have just left me there, but… Anne took me home with her. Still don’t know why she trusted me like that, but she gave me a room.” He shook his head. “Her house was a mess, man. I started fixing things while I was healing, what I could at first, anyway.” Sam snorted. “What she’d let me do. She said I had to be good people, because Riot started sleeping in my room instead of hers and he was a good judge of character.”

“Riot?”

“Her dog.” Sam laughed and this time the smile reached his eyes when he looked over at Dean. “She hit him with the Prius too.”

“So, she’s a menace.” Dean chuckled and watched Sam nod.

“Good kind of menace. You’d like her, Dean.” Sam met his brother’s eyes again with a challenging look. “She has a love of 80’s metal bands that borders on unhealthy.”

“Yeah; but she drives a Prius, dude.” Dean shivered and grinned but the smile fell away slowly and he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Ok, Sammy. I’ll meet her. I gotta thank her for takin’ care of my pain-in-the-ass little brother.”

“She did, Dean. She does.” Sam blew out a breath with a sudden longing to see Anne. “I miss her.”

“Come on. Lay back down and let me finish this, then we’ll get on the road.” Dean gave him Sam a shove toward the pillow. “You’re gonna need a few days to heal up from this. Do too much movin’ around and those stitches are gonna tear open.”

Sam nodded and lay back down on his stomach. “She makes pies. First night after she took me home, she made this apple pie… all I could think of was you and…” He closed his eyes and turned his face into the pillow when he couldn’t stop the sudden tears. Sam felt his brother’s hand squeeze the back of his neck for a moment and it made his breath hitch in his chest. He’d missed that… missed him so damn much. “I’m sorry, Dean. I should have looked harder… found someone else to ask about you… something.”

“Knock it off.” Dean leaned back and took up the suture needle and thread again, relieved to see the bleeding hadn’t gotten any worse. “I get it, Sammy. I do. What happened to you… what that bastard Crowley did…” He looked up to the ceiling for patience before bending back to his work. “Walkin’ away was the best thing you could have done. I see that now. You had no way of knowing where I was. I mean, who knew a human could get dragged into Purgatory?” As he said it, he realized just how true that was and how lost Sam must have been when he and Castiel had vanished along with Dick Roman. He put in the last few stitches and carefully cleaned the wound again before taping a bandage over it.

“We really gonna go to Anne’s?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Yeah, buddy. Just let me pack up the room. Stay put.” Dean patted his shoulder and stood. He sighed and looked down at Sam. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry I kicked you so hard the other day when you tried to tell me all this. I wasn’t ready to listen. Purgatory, it… it screws with your head.” Dean scrubbed his bloody hands on his jeans, his gaze going vacant for a moment, remembering past horrors of his own. He brought himself back to the present with a shake of his head. “It’s like part of me’s still there, ya know? It’s gonna take a while.”

“I know. But you’re here now.” Sam turned his head up to look at him and smiled. “You’re out.”

Dean smiled and turned away to start packing up the room. The words were a reminder of all the times he’d assured Sam of that very same thing after the wall in his mind had fallen, and it felt nice to have the shoe on the other foot for a moment. “I know, Sammy. I’m workin’ on it.”

The time went in a daze for Sam as Dean packed and then shepherded him into the car. The drive was a little surreal through his fogged mind, thanks to the painkillers Dean had made him take, and he knew he was grinning stupidly when they pulled up outside Anne’s house… his house. Sam couldn’t help it, and the grin only grew wider when the front door opened and she appeared on the porch. “That’s Anne. She’s pretty, huh?”

Dean snorted a laugh at his very high little brother and nodded. “Yeah, Sammy. She is.” Anne was tall, and Dean had to appreciate the waves of coppery, red hair that flowed around her face in the breeze as she came down off the porch. Her bright green eyes looked curiously at him for a moment before latching onto Sam in the passenger seat, and Dean knew he was going to have some explaining to do. “Stay put.” He climbed out of the Impala and walked around, meeting the woman at Sam’s door.

“You’re Dean.” Anne tilted her head up to meet his gaze and smiled. “He always said you two didn’t look alike, but he was wrong. He does kind of look like you.” She glanced into the car and back at Dean. “So, what happened to him?”

Dean smirked, hearing the underlying question of whether it was his fault or not and liked her just a little more. He opened his mouth to try and come up with a story and stopped when she held up a hand.

“It’s ok. You can tell me the truth.” Anne assured him. “I know what you do, what he does.” She chuckled. “Sam can’t keep his mouth shut when he’s high on painkillers. It sort of all came out shortly after I met him.”

Dean did laugh finally and shrugged. “Ghoul with a grudge and a big knife. He was saving my ass.”

“That sounds like him.” Anne raised a brow and put a hand on the door handle.

“Yeah. Sammy?” Dean called while Anne opened the door and he knelt down next to his brother. “You ready to move, buddy?” Sam gave him a nod and Dean chuckled, seeing that his little brother’s eyes were fixed on Anne happily. “Stop makin’ eyes at your girl for two minutes.”

Anne laughed and felt a little warm flutter in her heart, watching how gently and expertly Dean helped Sam out of the car and kept him on his feet. “Is he hurt bad? Does he need a hospital?”

Dean shook his head. “Naw. I stitched him up. It’s just in a bad place. Gotta keep his gigantor ass still for a few days so it can heal.”

Anne led them into the house and moved aside to let Dean ease Sam down to the overlong couch she’d bought just for him. She kept out of the way while Dean settled his brother and smiled. “I’m glad, you know. That you’re alive. That you’re safe.” She looked down at Sam and moved to brush her fingers through his hair softly. “Being without you, it was like an open wound. I could keep bandaging it up but it never healed.” She looked at Dean where he sat beside Sam’s hip and sniffed back a wave of tears. “You’re like his father, you know that? Not just his big brother. Every story he ever told me about being a kid always started and ended with you, and I think… part of him couldn’t forgive himself for not ending with you a year ago.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot,” Dean said gruffly and rested a hand on the side of Sam’s neck. “All I ever wanted him to do was live and be happy.” He met Anne’s eyes and smiled warmly. “Glad you hit him with your toy car.”

“Hey!” Anne said in mock anger. “There is nothing wrong with a Prius.”

“Nothing a sledge hammer wouldn’t fix,” Dean retorted with a grin.

“Oh, my God. Winchester men. Jesus.” Anne laughed and rubbed a hand over her face. “He says the same damn thing.”

“That’s my boy.” Dean squeezed Sam’s neck fondly.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is,” Anne agreed quietly and laughed. “I’m gonna go make some coffee and let Riot in from the backyard before he smells Sam and starts to howl. Honestly, my own dog threw me over for Sam. It’s embarrassing.”

Dean watched her leave the room and looked back to his brother as Sam’s eyes began to flutter open again. “You’re right, Sammy. I do like her.” Sam gave the smile of the blissfully high and closed his eyes again, making Dean laugh. “And you’re stupid over her. It’s ok.” Dean smoothed a hand over Sam’s brow and down to his neck again. “I approve. She’s smart, she’s hot, and she doesn’t take any of your crap.” He chuckled. “We’re gonna have to work on her taste in cars though.” Dean looked out the window at the Impala, around the quiet, clean, and homey house and then settled his eyes back on Sam. “I’m home, little brother,” Dean whispered and tried to let that finally sink in. “Home.”

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_The End._

**Next Up:** MMShadow


	26. For MMShadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For MMShadow - An encounter with a witch or a curse or something results in either Sam or Dean being turned into a dog or a cat. Whoever is transformed is aware of it, but still finds himself behaving like a cat/dog without meaning to. So they have to find out how to change him back and keep him out of trouble at the same time. Much humor ensues, with some protective!brothers (either one or both) and maybe some hurt? Any season will do (as long as it's not soulless!Sam lol). Thanks!
> 
> A/N: This is season 1. Oh, after Wendigo I suppose. No real reason. It just seems like a good, uncomplicated place to put it. :D I apologize for the lengthy delay on this one. I’ve spent the last week dealing with the damn flu. LOL I feel like a plague victim. Also… snot demons. They’re real dammit. Good god are they real. :P

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“You know, I really hate friggin’ witches, dude,” Dean grumbled as they picked their way through the overgrown and tree-crowded park that doubled as the massive back yard of an old mansion.“ And how come this asshole couldn’t hole up in a damn hotel, huh? No. He’s gotta pick abandoned homes of the rich and shameless in the middle of friggin’ October.”

Sam smirked and glanced at his brother through the frigid mist that covered everything around them. “They probably have a newsletter.” He shrugged. “One hundred and one ways to piss off Dean Winchester in every issue.”

“Shuddup,” Dean snarled but had to smirk at the thought.

“I’m still not entirely sure he _is_ a witch,” Sam said and moved closer to Dean as the fog thickened and ate through his jacket, making him shiver with cold.

“Dude, we’ve been over this.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You did the research. I did the research. Dude’s gettin’ his ‘Witches of Eastwick’ on.”

Sam chuckled. “Really?”

“What? Michelle Pfeiffer was hot. You know it.”

Sam waved a hand with a smile before Dean dragged him away from his point again. “I just think there might be another explanation for the victims disappearing, not to mention the weird animals showing up at their homes to freak out their families.” He blew out a breath. “I mean, doesn’t it seem strange to you? Why send harmless animals to their families?”

“Dude. Witch. What about that says anything is gonna make sense to you?” Dean snorted. “They’re freaky, evil bitches.” He laughed and slapped Sam’s arm. “Which reminds me, gotta give this guy crap for being a witch. I mean, he’s a dude.”

“Men can be witches, Dean.”

“And little brothers can be bitches, Sammy. Can we do this thing, please?” Dean grinned over the glare Sam gave him and drew his gun as the hulk of the house began to appear like a brooding shadow out of the mist ahead of them.

“Jerk,” Sam grumbled and took out his own gun. They both went silent as they broke from the cover of the trees and moved toward the back of the house. He watched Dean raise a hand and point to the back door that stood slightly open. Sam nodded and slipped a step ahead of him quickly to cross the open ground with Dean at his back. The unkempt grasses tugged at the knees of his jeans and left frigid water behind to make him shiver as he reached the house and stopped with his shoulder next to the door. He tilted his head into the opening for a quick glance and then looked back at Dean, twitching a brow to say it looked clear.

Dean shrugged, settled his shoulders and moved inside. He slipped through the door without moving it, wary of making it creak and alerting their prey. It was dim in the hall. The daylight that filtered through the mist barely made a dent inside, and he blinked to help his eyes adjust as he felt Sam come up behind him. They made a quick sweep of the first floor and found nothing but empty rooms, cobwebs, and one enterprising rat that vanished quickly into the wall with its purloined drapery tassel dragging behind it.

Sam tapped his brother’s shoulder and nodded to the stairs. Dean gave him a nod and he started up, staying close to the wall and hopefully on the most stable portion of the crumbling structure. The wood creaked and cracked ominously with each step they took.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Dean whispered irreverently after another loud crack filled the silence around them.

“Dude,” Sam said repressively. “He might just think it’s a stray dog or something unless he hears your idiot voice echoing through the damn house.”

“Yeah, ‘cause there are so many wild dogs around here,” Dean hissed and snorted as they reached the top of the stairs and an empty hall that stretched in both directions.

“I got right,” Sam said and gave his brother a nudge to the left while he ignored the mutinous look on Dean’s face at the idea of splitting up. “Take less time this way.”

Dean scowled but nodded and started down the hall. Every step he took away from his brother left his nerves twitching with concern. Sam was a good hunter and Dean trusted his instincts and even his ability to protect himself…but not when he wasn’t where Dean could see him, and especially since Sam had just so recently gotten back into the game and was still not really over what had happened to Jessica. “Dammit,” he said softly and stuck his head in the first room he reached. Finding nothing, he moved on with a quick look over his shoulder at Sam’s retreating back. He checked the next room and again found it empty and moved on to the last door in the hall.

Unlike the others, that door was closed, and Dean took hold of the doorknob and gave it a slow turn. He eased the door open and slipped inside, leading with his gun. There was a bed in the room and several candles lit on top of an old dresser. Dean moved around the room and found several books on witchcraft lying open on a table next to a big, over-stuffed green chair. He nudged the cover of one closed with his gun and smirked. “’A to Z of Modern Witchcraft’? Really?” he said dismissively.

“Some good tips in there. Shouldn’t knock it.”

Dean whirled in shock at the voice behind him that was so not his brother’s. “Wha…” was all he got out before something hard and heavy collided with his temple and took the world away from him into darkness.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Dean.”

Dean groaned and tried to ignore the voice calling him.

“Dean, dammit. Wake up. Come on. Dean, please!”

The voice suddenly came clear for Dean and he recognized it as his little brother’s and, worse, heard the thread of real fear in it. He struggled to open his eyes and finally cracked them open. “Sammy?” he rasped in a whisper in deference to his pounding skull.

“Shit,” Sam said in relief and slumped in the ropes holding him as he watched his brother slowly awaken across the floor of the damn cellar. “Yeah. I’m here, Dean.” When he’d woken and seen his brother tied to the support beam some twenty feet away and, worse, the amount of blood coating the side of his head, his face, and his shirt, Sam had panicked. “No. No. No. Keep your eyes open. Dean!” he yelled when Dean’s eyes began to flutter closed again. Sam smiled as they popped open in surprise to look at him.

“S’goin’ on?” Dean asked, or tried to.

“Looks like you took a good hit to the head.” Sam saw his brother’s arms tense and strain. “Yeah, you’re tied to a support beam. Sorry.”

Dean lifted his head up for a better look at his little brother and squinted to try and get a clearer view of him in the badly-lit cellar. “Happened t’you?”

Sam shook his head. “Not sure really. One minute I was checking out a room, and then…”

“Then you stupidly walked into a magical trap I laid on the floor two weeks ago to catch that damn rat that’s been pissing me off.”

Sam jerked his head over and looked in surprise as their ‘witch’ strolled down the stairs and into the circle of light from the small lamp. “Trap?”

“Would have killed the rat.” The man smiled. “Guess at your size, all it did was knock you out.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, chilled down to his soul to realize just how lucky he was to have not lost his little brother. “I get outta these ropes… kickin’ your ass.” Dean grunted when the man’s fist slammed into his stomach.

“Please. You can’t even stand on your own right now, hero. Name’s Jasper, by the way.” Jasper turned and smiled at Sam. “Figure you should know the name of the guy you were coming to murder, right?”

“We weren’t going to kill you. Aren’t… well,” Sam sighed and nodded to his brother, “might want to have a talk with him. He gets a little uptight when people tie me up. Also, he really hates witches.”

Jasper tipped his head back and laughed. He caught his breath after a moment and grinned at Sam. “Witch? Wow, did you two not do your homework or what?”

“Huh?” Dean was doing his best to follow the conversation, but it was difficult past the ringing in his head.

“Do you see an altar or a -- what do they call it?” Jasper put a finger on his chin for a moment, thinking and then snapped his fingers. “A grimoire. Yeah; no Book of Shadows or whatever here, boys. Sorry.”

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise and a feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He’d known something was off, and he kicked himself mentally for not putting up more of a fight with his brother. They should have done more research. He knew they’d missed something. “If you’re not a witch, then what are you?” He let his eyes move past Jasper to settle on his big brother, and that didn’t help his panic level any. Dean was pale and flushed, both, and his eyes were clearly glazed with a hell of a concussion. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean groaned and blinked to try and clear his vision. “M’here. S’not a witch? Then wha’ the hell?” He shook his head slowly and found his brother’s eyes. “S… sorry, dude. Should’a listened.”

“Sucks to be you, man.” Jasper said in mock sadness and punched Dean in the side of the head with a laugh. “Hunters. God, you guys are like apes with an Etch-a-Sketch. Any of you idiots even graduate high school?”

“Hey!” Dean said, incensed for his little brother at the insult. “He went to Stanford, jackass. Smarter than you any day. Crap.” Dean groaned again and let his eyes close with a fresh wave of pain pounding through his head.

“Leave him alone!” Sam shouted angrily when Jasper landed another punch to the side of his brother’s head.

“Right. Right.” Jasper smiled and crossed the room to Sam. “Wouldn’t want you to feel left out. So, partners?” He drove his fist into Sam’s stomach and then slammed his elbow up into the taller man’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. “Lovers?”

“Brothers, you freak! Get off him!” Dean bellowed. His rage at seeing his little brother beaten cleared his head in an instant.

Jasper watched Sam’s eyes roll in his head and nodded, satisfied that the man was more or less helpless. “Cool your jets,” he told Dean with a laugh as he moved behind Sam and took out a knife. He quickly sliced through the bonds holding the young man up and chuckled when Sam crumpled forward to the hard floor with a groan.

“Sam?” Dean watched his brother’s uncoordinated movements and suffered for him as Jasper emerged from behind Samwith a knife out. “Don’t you touch him.”

Jasper snorted. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna kill him… Dean is it?”

Dean watched the man go to a pile of furs and sift through them. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Deciding.”

“What?” Dean really didn’t like the smile on Jasper’s face when the man turned back to him and held up a large black fur of some sort. Dean narrowed his eyes for a closer look and saw it was more like an animal pelt; a skin.

“You hunters are a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Jasper shook out the skin and waited while Sam sluggishly gained his knees. “I never get tired of screwing with you.”

“What are you…” Dean stared in surprise when Jasper threw the pelt at his brother, letting it drop over his head. For a moment, nothing happened and then Sam screamed. His voice filled the cellar in an agonized cry, and Dean jerked desperately at the ropes holding him while Jasper came over to stand in front of him and block his view. “Sam! Sammy! You answer me!”

“He’s a little busy right now.” Jasper chuckled and glanced back to watch Sam writhing on the floor as his screams gained in volume, and then looked back into Dean’s snarling face. “You know what the best part is? Even if you kill me, he’ll stay like this.” He grinned more widely when Sam’s screams went silent and watched Dean practically vibrating with the need to reach his brother. “He’s not the first person I’ve done this to. Hell, he’s not even the first hunter I’ve done this to.” He laughed. “And not a one of you’s ever figured out how to remove it.

“Remove what, you son of a bitch?” Dean struggled to free himself and see his brother, but Jasper stood firmly in his line of sight.

Jasper chuckled and patted Dean’s cheek. “Have a nice life. I think you’re gonna be too busy to come after me again.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Dean snarled and jerked in the ropes again while Jasper moved away and jogged up the stairs and out of sight. “Sammy!” Dean called and stared at the dark, still lump on the other side of the cellar that was his brother. “Dammit.” Dean growled and jerked again, finally getting enough give in the ropes to reach his right hand to the small of his back and the knife there. He pulled it out carefully and started sawing at the ropes. “Hang on, Sam. I’m comin’, ok? Just… dammit!” Dean hissed as the knife cut sharply into his own hand and ignored the pain. He sawed at the rope with single-minded purpose, and suddenly it gave. Dean staggered forward to his knees, unable to catch himself as his head spun and the floor seemed to sway under him. “Shit,” He put a hand to his head and wiped tacky blood from his eyes before climbing back to his feet.

“Sam?” Dean stumbled the twenty feet to Sam’s side and dropped to his knees beside him. “Sammy. Talk to me, man. Come on.” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and frowned. The animal pelt felt… wrong. Dean tried to pull it away, but Sam simply moved with it. “Son of a… what the hell is this?” He tried to roll Sam out from under the thing and when the reality finally sank in to his dazed brain, Dean gasped and sat back on his butt in shock and disbelief.

“Oh, my God.” Dean whispered it and reached out again to run his fingers through the black, soft hair over the shoulder and up toward the head. “Sammy?” He knew it. He’d seen it happen, but it still took a moment to process that this… his little brother had been turned into some sort of massive, black dog. “Holy shit. Sam!” Dean moved around to the dog’s… to his brother’s head and slid a hand underneath. “Dude, you are gonna freak the hell out when you wake up so just… try not to bite me.” It was scaring Dean the longer Sam stayed unconscious, but he could still almost hear the screams and figured the change must have been damn painful to tear sounds like that out of stoic Sam.

Dean glanced around the cellar and groaned when his head spun again. He leaned over the dog’s head and closed his eyes for a moment. “Shit, that asshole hits hard.” He forced his eyes open again when he felt the heavy head resting in his hand begin to twitch. “Oh, boy. Here we go. Sammy?”

Sam followed the sound of his brother’s voice calling him. It was that fearful tone of voice that he’d never been able to ignore. It meant something had happened and Dean was scared. He tried to remember what could possibly have scared him. Pain rushed through his mind in a whirlwind and then the vision of his big brother covered in blood and being beaten by the witch they’d come after. Sam fought to open his eyes at last, needing to see Dean and reassure himself that his brother was all right, and realized he felt… wrong somehow. He was breathing too fast. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears like he was on speed, it was so fast. His whole body felt wrong somehow and at last, his eyes fluttered open and Sam jerked in surprise and wondered just how badly he’d been hit in the head. Dean was there but his face seemed washed of color; the shades of flesh and brown hair and the green of his eyes were muted strangely. Sam opened his mouth to say his brother’s name and startled when a whine burst from his throat.

“Sam. Sammy. Ok, dude. Listen. This is…” Dean stopped and watched the dog’s… Sam’s… eyes open comically wide as he whined up at Dean softly. “Jasper, he, uh… he threw this pelt thing on you and, uh, I think we can be pretty sure at this point that he’s a skinwalker, not a witch.” Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s head when the canine body jerked again. “Sammy, he… you’re a dog. He turned you into a dog.” Dean had not been a hundred percent sure Sam would have retained awareness of who he actually was, so he was actually a bit relieved when he felt the warm fur under his hands jerk back in shock at his words.

Sam shook his head in denial, opened his mouth to yell, and his whole body startled badly when he heard the bark that should have been his voice. He looked down at his hands and found paws.

“Sammy, take it easy.” Dean tried to soothe him as his brother’s surprising new form rolled to his feet and then promptly staggered back down to the floor. “Dude, breathe or something!” he could hear the dog’s labored, frantic breaths and knew Sam was having the mother of all panic attacks in there. “Sammy!”

Sam stared down at his body, his uncooperative, fur-covered body, and then looked back up at Dean, silently begging for his big brother to fix this.

Dean ran a hand through his blood-crusted hair because he could read that plea in Sam’s eyes no matter what form he was in apparently. “Dude, we’ll figure this out. I promise. But you gotta calm the hell down in the meantime. We need to get outta here first.” Dean shoved up to his knees, then his feet and promptly over-balanced back to the floor with a grunt. “Crap.” He wasn’t surprised to suddenly find himself with a face full of concerned Sam, but the dog hair was a new twist. “Dude, back off. I’m ok.” He shoved at Sam’s shoulder and snorted when his brother stumbled back to his haunches. “You look ridiculous.”

Sam tried not to be freaked out about the growl that rumbled out of him as he got back to his feet. He silently cursed Jasper for doing this to him when his brother was clearly hurt. He wished he could yell at Dean, but settled for moving next to him and trying to stand firmly beside him. Sam hoped this new body of his was sturdy enough for Dean to use as a crutch. He certainly seemed to be big enough.

“I’m fine, just got my bell rung,” Dean reassured his brother, but he did slide a hand over his back and use it as a prop as he regained his feet unsteadily. He looked down at the dog, at his brother, and snorted a laugh seeing that Sam’s head was nearly on a level with his chest. “Dude, even as a dog, you’re gigantic. Hey!” Dean snarled when Sam bumped his hip and knocked him off balance. “Quit it. Come on.” He started for the stairs with Sam wobbling beside him. “I’ll make some calls. We’ll get you turned back, ok?”

Sam wasn’t sure he believed that, but Dean’s assurance was all he had to hold onto. It was frustrating trying to relearn how to walk with four legs rather than two, and he was being assaulted by smells. He could smell the skins Jasper had left behind, and the faint chemical tang of whatever he’d used to cure them. Sam could smell himself, a leftover, sickly sweet odor that he was sure was Jasper. He could smell Dean…the combination of leather, sweat, and gun oil that was probably imprinted somewhere in his subconscious, now as plain as day to his nostrils,and above all that, the iron-like tang of Dean’s blood that made him wish to God he had hands so he could take care of the idiot. He followed Dean up the stairs and focused on not hyperventilating from sheer panic at his new form.

Dean swayed when they reached the top of the stairs and had to stop and hold on to the door frame for a minute, ridiculously grateful for the steadying, solid presence of Sam leaning against his hip to help. “This is gonna be an interesting day.”

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Dean looked up from the laptop when Sam flopped heavily onto the bed beside him and rolled onto his back. He snorted a laugh. “Dude. I am NOT rubbing your tummy. Just… no.”

Sam hastily rolled back onto his stomach and was silently mortified. He’d done it without even thinking and he buried his muzzle under his paws. In the last twelve hours, he’d found himself more and more doing dog-like things without realizing, and it was beginning to terrify him. He was afraid that he was losing himself. Worse to him was the knowledge that he understood now all the animals that had shown up at the victim’s homes; they were the skinwalker’s victims. Shapechanged into animals, they had gone to the only place they knew; home.

“Stop freakin’ out,” Dean said as he watched his brother hiding under his paws. He indulged himself and let a hand scratch through the soft, black hair at the back of Sam’s head behind his ears to offer comfort. “We’ll have you back to your emo self in no time.” He laughed when Sam’s dark head jerked up to peer at him. “Wow. Your bitch face even works as a dog.”

Sam growled and dropped his head back to the bed miserably, but he didn’t bother trying to dislodge Dean’s hand from the back of his neck.

Dean sighed and looked back at the laptop screen. His first call once he’d had Sam safely locked in the motel room had been to their father with the frustrating result of only getting his damn voicemail. Of all the times for Dad to be hiding from them, this was not the time. He’d even called Bobby and gotten voicemail there as well, but at least with Bobby, Dean knew it was because the man was likely elbow deep in a hunt rather than avoiding them. He smiled. Bobby he knew he could count on if nothing else, once the man eventually got back to him. He jumped when his cell phone rang and he hastily answered it.

“Hello? Bobby? Dad?”

“Dean.”

Dean smiled again. “Pastor Jim.” Dean frowned. “Why are you calling me?”

Jim chuckled. “Because someone -- I’m assuming your father -- left me a cryptic email about skinwalkers and calling you.”

Dean snorted. “I didn’t think dad knew what email was. Calm down, Sammy,” he said when his little brother lurched up onto his hindquarters and thumped into Dean’s shoulder. “We could use some help.”

“Talk to me.” Jim grabbed a notepad and a pen and quickly scribbled notes while Dean talked and his brows rose in surprise with each moment. “He’s a dog?”

“Yeah, big, black, oversized ball of emo fluff… knock it off!” Dean shoved Sam and grinned when his little brother rolled off the side of the bed with a growl. “There’s gotta be a way to get the skin off him, right?”

“There’ll be a way, yes.” Jim assured him and sighed for the heavy, relieved sigh he heard come through the phone. “Dean, do you want me to come out?”

“Naw. Just figure out how I get Sam back to his sasquatch self and we’ll be good.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stitched gash above his eye with a grimace. “I need to track this bastard down again before he does this to someone else. He said he’s done it to other hunters. And I’m pretty sure he’s been doing it to other folks around here, too.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Pastor Jim frowned. “That would explain a few things. Couple of years ago, a hunter friend of mine vanished. Sean Cleary. I don’t think you knew him. A few days after he went missing, a tame leopard showed up at his house. Freaked out local law enforcement.”

“A friggin’ leopard?” Dean asked in surprise. “What happened to it?”

“They put it down,” Jim said slowly, sadly, with the sudden realization that he could likely be sure Sean was dead now. It gave him even more purpose to find a solution for Sam so the same wouldn’t happen to him, although, as a dog and with Dean, he was probably about as safe as he could be. “Let me do some digging and I’ll call you back. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Pastor Jim. Thanks.” Dean smiled and flipped the phone closed as Sam hopped back up on the bed and butted him in the jaw with his head. “Dude, your nose is wet. He’s on it. He’ll figure this out. And for the record, I think we should be grateful he turned you into a dog. It could have been worse.”

Sam slumped into his brother’s lap shamelessly and tried to believe him. He closed his eyes and let exhaustion drag him into sleep while Dean’s hand scratched comfortingly through his hair. He woke sometime later with Dean’s phone ringing again and found himself sprawled across Dean’s lap still. Sam listened to his brother’s voice, hearing that he was speaking to Pastor Jim again and did his best to follow the conversation.

“Right.” Dean nodded and looked down as Sam’s canine face turned to look up at him. “Yeah, I think I found him. Thanks, Jim. I’ll call you when Sam can talk again.” He hung up the phone and smiled at his brother. “So, all we gotta do is find that Jasper bastard, and, uh, basically, sprinkle some of his blood on you. Jim says it’ll make the skin detach or whatever.” He pushed Sam’s heavy ass off his lap and stood, shaking out his legs. “I’ll go find him and… hey!” Dean looked over in surprise when Sam’s jaws closed over his elbow and tugged. “No way, dude. You’re staying here.”

Sam jerked his brother’s arm again to let him know that wasn’t going to happen. There was no way he was letting Dean go after the skinwalker on his own after what had already happened. Dog or not, he was going to have his brother’s back.

Dean blew out a breath and pulled his arm free. “Stop droolin’ on me. Fine.” He grabbed his gun from the nightstand and put it in the back of his pants. “But your ass had better stay back, because no way I’m gonna be tryin’ to put stitches in a damn dog.” He rolled his eyes when Sam bounded off the bed to the motel room door and waited for him. “The smell of dog is never gonna come out of my baby.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam padded behind his brother toward the defunct factory Dean had found and hoped that Jasper was actually there. He was starving and tried hard not to remember just how not disgusted he had been when Dean had opened a can of dog food and shoved it at him as a joke. He was also trying to not think too much about having to nudge Dean’s leg and trot back and forth to the door when he had needed to relieve himself. That had just been mortifying, and the fact that Dean had been laughing the whole time hadn’t helped.He sneezed when Dean turned back at the door and pointed a finger at him.

“Stay.” Dean smirked and had no problem reading the insult in Sam’s eyes. “I mean it, dude. You ain’t comin’ in here.” He pulled the door open and glanced inside. It was dark with streamers of sunlight coming from somewhere high above. “This bastard already got to you once. He’s not getting another shot. Stay back.” Dean quickly slipped inside and pulled the door closed before Sam could follow him. He nodded when he heard a dull thump against the door followed by a soft whine of course and turned his attention into the factory. “Ok, asshole. I know you’re in here somewhere.” He’d found reports of strange animals seen around the place and several disappearances had been reported in the area. “Just need some of your freaky blood.”

Sam growled at the closed door and stood up until he could get both paws on the knob. He tried to turn it and open the door and dropped back to the ground in frustration when he failed. He looked around and took off in a loping run down the side of the building. There had to be another way in and he was going to find it. Sam could smell his brother faintly even though he was inside the building, and, as he sniffed more deeply at the late afternoon air, he could smell the sickly-sweet odor he’d identified as Jasper. The skinwalker was inside as well. Sam picked up his pace and ran around the corner of the building. He spied a collection of stacked boxes and crates and leaped up them one after another until he could reach an open window high above. He gave a strong jump, hooked his front paws over the ledge of the window and used his powerful hind quarters to scramble up the rest of the way and inside.

Sam dropped onto a walkway with a soft thump and stopped to look out onto the factory floor. He couldn’t see anyone, but he could smell them, Dean and Jasper. He started down the catwalk toward a set of stairs and jumped as a gunshot rang out and echoed through the building. Sam spun and saw his brother thrown into view to slide across the floor and Dean’s gun spun off into the shadows. Sam snarled in anger and fear and ran for the stairs.

“How the hell did you find me?” Jasper asked angrily as he strode after Dean and delivered a kick to the man’s stomach that rolled him over. He shook out the lion pelt he’d been using and tossed it on top of a crate with a smile. The hunter had never seen the great cat coming and Jasper grinned with the sound of Dean’s pained grunts in the air. “How bad did those claws get you, hmm? Gonna bleed out on me, Dean?”

“Screw you,” Dean snarled and rolled carefully up to his knees. He kept one arm braced over the bleeding claw marks across his stomach and looked around for his gun.

“Don’t you have other things to worry about?” Jasper laughed. “Like a brother who probably needs a flea bath by now.” He shook his head and drew a knife from his belt. “You know, I was gonna let you live. Really. But if you’re going to be this pig-headed about tracking me down, well, can’t have that. Nothing personal.” He raised the knife.

Dean looked up, seeing the glint of metal in a shaft of sunlight. He took a breath and readied himself to lunge up under the swing, and then could only stare in stunned surprise when the dark bulk of his shape-changed little brother slammed into Jasper and rolled them both away in a snarl of limbs and growls. “Sammy!”

Any concern Sam had for his own safety vanished with the smell of Dean’s blood heavy in the air and the sight of the knife in the skinwalker’s hand. Sam used his new, powerful body to slam Jasper into the floor and closed his jaws over the man’s right shoulder, as close to his throat as he could get around the arms trying to hold him off. Sam dug his teeth in until he tasted blood and heard Jasper’s agonized scream of pain.

Dean lurched up to a knee and pulled his back up .22 out of his boot. “Sam! Get off him!” he shouted and aimed at Jasper’s head as Sam’s dark body let go of his prize and loomed over the skinwalker. Dean’s brows rose when he saw a jet of dark, red blood arc up from Jasper’s neck to spatter across Sam’s black hair. “Sammy, gimme a clear shot, dammit.”

“Should have made him…” Jasper gasped and curled to his side as he slapped a hand over the fiercely bleeding would in his neck. “… housecat.”

Dean kept his gun aimed at the man’s head but knew there was no need. He’d be dead in a matter of minutes. “Should never have screwed with my little brother in the first place, asshole.” He looked over at Sam when he heard a low whine and frowned. “Sammy?” He could still see drops of Jasper’s blood glistening among the black fur of Sam’s face and smiled when Sam whined again. “It’s ok, Sammy. You’re gonna be fine.”

Sam gave a sudden, howling scream as agony burned through him for the second time in a day. It cut his legs out from under him and he dropped to the floor to writhe.

“Just… just breathe, Sam!” Dean shouted over the horrible sounds that were tearing themselves from his brother’s throat. He kept the muzzle of the gun solidly on Jasper, but his eyes on Sam. The heavy, furred pelt covering Sam began to shift and move unnaturally, and a moment later the canine howl turned into a very human scream. Sam’s long arms and legs emerged, glistening in the pale light and the last scream finally died away, leaving his little brother lying on the stone floor, gasping for breath and barely covered by the dog pelt.

“Damn,” Jasper gasped and let his hand fall away from his throat.

Dean watched the skinwalker’s eyes close and his chest still and finally let his gun drop. He was dead. “Sammy?” He shuffled painfully over to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. Dean grabbed the edge of the pelt and whipped it away from Sam. He snorted a laugh, finding his brother disturbingly naked. He set his gun down and pulled his leather jacket off. Dean twitched it over Sam’s groin, sacrificing it to save himself having to look at his little brother’s junk and smiled when Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “Mornin’ sunshine.”

“Dean?” Sam said and then gasped. He held his hands up and grinned as he looked at his own fingers and arms. He looked down at his body and bright red crept up his face as he clutched Dean’s jacket over his lap. “Oh, man.”

“Welcome back. You ok?” Dean eased down to sit beside him and had to laugh as Sam struggled to sit up and keep himself covered.

“Uh… yeah. Think so. Just, uh…” Sam waved a hand at himself. “I was wearing clothes when he changed me dammit. How come they’re gone now?”

“’Cause the universe loves to give me material to tease your ass about,” Dean said with a laugh.

“Ha ha. Very funny. God, you’re a jerk.” Sam sighed and looked over at Jasper’s lifeless body. He swallowed hard, still able to taste the skinwalker’s blood in his mouth.

“Dude had it coming, Sammy,” Dean said when he saw the dark look on his brother’s face.

“I know.” Sam nodded and looked away. “He was gonna kill you.” Sam shrugged and smirked. “You’re not the only one goes a little crazy when his brother’s threatened.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah. Come on, princess. Help me up.” He watched Sam stand with Dean’s leather jacket held awkwardly in front of him and snorted. “On second thought, never mind. I’ll crawl out.”

“Shuddup.” Sam said and could feel the blush burning on his face as he awkwardly tried to tie Dean’s jacket around his hips enough to cover himself. When he was satisfied, he reached down and pulled his laughing brother to his feet and held on to him while he swayed. “Hold still.” Sam grabbed the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulled it up.

“Dude, get off.” Dean slapped Sam’s hand away and then had to grab onto him to stay standing. “Ow. Ok, crap. Yeah, that hurts.” He laughed again, although it came out sounding a bit more like a pained gasp, and slapped his brother’s bare shoulder. “You’re dry cleanin’ my jacket before I put that back on.”

“Keep laughing and I might roll around in your clothes naked while you’re asleep,” Sam threatened and tugged one of Dean’s arms over his shoulders.

“That’s just wrong, dude.” Dean chuckled and tried not to hunch over his wounded belly as they walked. “Thought I told you to stay outside.”

It was Sam’s turn to snort. “I don’t listen to you as a human. What made you think I’d listen any better as a dog?”

“It’s too bad he didn’t turn you into a cat.” Dean glanced over at Sam’s scowling face. “Then you really would have been a pu…”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“I will drop you.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“You love me.”

“I really don’t.” Sam rolled his eyes fondly and held on tighter to his big brother because he really did.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** Westwardwondering


	27. For Westward Wondering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Westwardwondering - First of all, I love both boys but lean in the 'Dean girl' direction. I love his depthless loyalty and generous though desperately protected heart. I saw this: and thought, "Oh my god! What a place for a potentially fun romp for Dean." Ghost beer - and there are people out there now who would swear PBR is and always has been the ghost of real beer. SO, the baddie is up to you - I hope you have a chance to look through these pictures. There are even underground vaults. Something about old arched brickwork has always struck me as slightly creepy. I'm thinking second season - after Dad, before Deal, during the time Sam has Visions. Or maybe early Season 7 - while Sam is still a little lost and hallucinating/having trouble determining what is real. As I mentioned in my original prompt, I have an absurd fondness for the Sam afraid of Dean/Dean talks him down situation. That's my money shot! ;-)
> 
> A/N: Let’s go with season 7 here. :D Get you the best of both prompts, old and new! Besides, we all know how much I enjoy writing Halucifer. Heh heh heh heh

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“How come we couldn’t come up with a ghost hunt at Dogfishhead brewery, man?” Dean asked in a forlorn voice and smirked at his brother. “Pabst isn’t good beer.”

“I know.” Sam rolled his eyes, having heard it several times already. “It’s the ghost of good beer. Ha ha.” He shook his head fondly at his brother. “Besides, it’s not like there’ll be any beer there to drink anyway. The place has been closed since ninety-seven.”

“Which is why we should just leave it to the ghost.” Dean snorted. “Can’t possibly cause any more damage than the beer.”

Sam chuckled and looked up as they rounded a corner and the old brewery came into view beyond a long, overgrown parking lot. “Because ghost hunters keep going in to find the thing and are ending up dead.”

“Details. Details.” Dean slowed the old Charger to get a better look at the place as it loomed up ahead of them in the fading light of dusk. The whole area looked deserted, like something out of a post-apocalyptic film. The brewery buildings were showing the years of disuse; stones fading in placeswith the elements, and even enterprising vines beginning a crawl up the face of each building that would one day turn them green. Glass still sparkled in some of the arched windows, and somehow the old, red Pabst sign was still intact and hanging suspended between the two buildings like a bridge. “Man, if any place were destined to be haunted.”

“Yeah.” Sam looked up as they neared the buildings and felt a little chill run down his spine, that innate sense that told him something ‘other’ was inside and, maybe, taking note of their arrival. They passed under the sign and into the now deep shadows between the buildings and he shivered. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to have to dodge the friggin’ Ghostfacers while we hunt this thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, that would be just what we need. Wonder how they missed this one?”

Dean shruggedand pulled up beside the right-hand building and parked. “Just be glad they did.” He climbed out of the car with a snort of laughter as Sam uncurled himself from the passenger seat. It made the front seat of the Impala seem roomy in comparison for his over-tall, little brother.

“Where do you wanna start?” Sam asked as he looked up and back and forth between the two buildings. “The reports are pretty even between the two. Three people dead in each, so the spirit doesn’t seem to have a preference.”

Dean shrugged as he popped open the trunk and pulled out Sam’s duffel, handing it to him. “Eeny meeny.” He smiled and pointed. “Let’s start with the right one.”

“And hope it _is_ the right one.” Sam shouldered his bag and grabbed his sawed-off shotgun. He tugged his jacket more closely around him as the sun set in earnest. “Gonna be a cold night.”

“Aw, I should’a brought you some hot cocoa, huh, princess?” Dean chuckled and ducked away from Sam’s swing. He pointed. “Door over there. Come on.”

Sam sighed and followed his brother. He waited until Dean was at the door and slapped a hand up the back of his head. “Jerk.”

Dean laughed and yanked the door open with a screech of rusted metal. “Ladies first.”

“How about I search the other building on my own?” Sam asked as he walked inside and grinned at the dark look on Dean’s face.

“Pretty sure you know the answer to that one, idiot.” Dean pulled the door closed behind them and took out his flashlight. “Geez, it’s colder in here.”

Sam shivered again in the gloom and nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah. Let’s get moving.” Cold was an issue for him, one that he worked hard to not let on about. He bundled up more, wore layers damn near every day no matter the weather. Dean, he knew, had picked up on something. He would often turn the heat on in the Impala even if it wasn’t cold, as though understanding on some level that his little brother needed the extra warmth. Sam, for his part, couldn’t think of a way to explain to his big brother that while Hell and the cage may burn hot, Lucifer himself had burned with the cold of angelic fire. He shuddered again and forced his thoughts away from their dangerous course as the first, amused, tuneless whistle sounded from behind him.

“Sammy.”

Sam startled when Dean’s fingers snapped in front of his face. “Yeah. What?”

Dean frowned but nodded once the faraway look left his little brother’s face. “You good for this?”

“What? Dude, I’m fine.” Sam rolled his eyes and moved ahead of Dean to take the lead.

“Uh huh.” Dean didn’t argue, but he knew his little brother wasn’t as ‘fine’ as he was making himself out to be. Denial, however, seemed to be Sam’s chief weapon in not giving in to the hell in his head, so Dean would give him what leeway he could. “Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up.” They needed to find the ghost to give them some idea of who it was in the first place. There had been several deaths over the years during the brewery’s time, and neither of them was in a hurry to go dig up four different graves if they could narrow it down.

“Would have helped if the witnesses had seen anything specific,” Sam said sadly and turned down a long hall that seemed to run the length of the building. “Stairs are… down here on the right, I think.”

Dean smirked. “You studied the blueprints, didn’t you?”

“Obviously. One of us has to know where we’re going.” Sam shrugged with a smile.

“I always know where I’m going,” Dean argued.

“Like that time in Vermont when you got us lost for three days?” Sam chuckled and ducked away from the slap to the back of his head.

“First of all, you were, like, ten; and second, I wasn’t lost.” Dean rolled his eyes and ignored the grin on his brother’s face. “We were taking the scenic route.”

“Twelve, and your scenic route took three days.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Man, dad was pissed when we finally showed up.” He slapped the back of Sam’s shoulder when they found the stairs and took out his flashlight. “Come on. I promise not to take the scenic route again.”

Sam grinned and followed his brother down the stairs in the darkness. He took out his own flashlight and clicked it on. “EMF?”

“Yep.” Dean tucked his light under his arm for a moment and reached into his pocket to switch the modified Walkman on. A soft whine issued from inside his jacket and he shrugged. “Don’t think Casper’s figured out we’re here yet.”

Sam played his light over the stone walls. They glistened in the light, damp with condensation from the day’s sun baking the building above. He had to work not to feel a sense of claustrophobia as they reached the first basement level and all those tons of brick and steel sat above them, waiting to fall. He shook his head and stepped closer to Dean as they aimed their lights down a long corridor. The ceiling was taller than Sam thought it would be and arched. “Huh. Awful spacious for a cellar.”

Dean chuckled. “Probably made ‘em this big for moving the fermentation kegs around. Some of those are pretty damn big.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust you to be too lazy to read a blueprint but understand the nuances of the beer-making process.”

“Priorities, Sammy. Beer is important.” Dean grinned and started down the corridor. “Three sublevels?”

“Two, not including this floor. There are two more under us, but the bottom level flooded.” Sam sighed. “Whoever designed the complex didn’t check how high the ground water level rises in spring.”

“Built-in pool. Nice.” Dean chuckled and flicked his light into the first room they passed. It was large and cavernous and empty. He moved on. “Hope we don’t have to get wet to deal with this thing.”

Sam shook his head. “Shouldn’t have to. It flooded, like, twenty years ago and the attacks are recent. Something else set the spirit off. I’m betting on the renovations.”

Dean nodded. “Put in a gift shop and some dead guy gets pissed. Our lives are awesome.”

Sam stepped into another room and played his light over several old, dusty barrels and kegs. Cobwebs hung from the stone ceiling in streamers. “Huh. No one’s been down here for a while, not in this room anyway.” He brushed a string of dusty web away from his head and followed behind Dean. “Maybe we should have started at the top of the building.”

The meter in Dean’s pocket chose that moment to whine to life and quickly became a scream of sound from his pocket. “Head’s up, Sammy.” Dean felt Sam press their backs together to watch both ends of the hall. He watched his breath puff out in a white cloud and tightened his grip on his shotgun.

Sam felt the hairs on his arms stand on end and rolled his shoulders out. “Crap, it’s strong.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and scanned the dark corridor with his flashlight and wary eyes. “What the hell’s he waiting for?”

A low moan echoed down the corridor and Sam quirked a brow. “Guess he wants to scare us first.”

Dean snorted. “Come on, you son of a bitch. Show us who you are so we can go find your grave and torch your happy ass.”

“Wow. Way to sweet-talk the dead guy, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes with a smirk and then ducked his head in surprise when a strong wind gusted through the hall. Dust blew into his face and made his eyes water. “Crap.”

“Touchy.” Dean kept his eyes up and on the hall in spite of the dust, not trusting the spirit to not use a moment of inattention against them. The wind grew in strength, whipping their jackets around them and Dean startled with the blast of Sam’s shotgun behind him. “Get him?”

“Dammit.” Sam shook his head and tried to shield his eyes. “Flickered out too fast but he’s here. Didn’t get a good look at him. It’s definitely a guy though.”

“Narrows it down.” Dean groaned. “Come on. Show us your ugly face.”

The wind gusted through the corridor and staggered Sam back into his brother. “Sorry.” He regained his balance and shivered in the freezing air. “At least there’s nothing down here for him to throw at…” before he could finish the sentence, Sam felt himself picked up and flung down the corridor. He heard Dean’s surprised yell over the howling wind and knew his brother had been thrown as well. He tried to duck his head and roll at the last moment and the air was pushed out of his lungs as he collided with the wall.

“Crap!” Dean grunted in pain as his headlong flight ended in an arched doorway. He dropped to the floor and tried to regain his feet. “Sam?” he called hoarsely, trying to catch his breath. The wind returned and Dean was shoved again by the invisible force. He rolled across the dusty, old keg room and slammed into the side of a barrel that collapsed under his weight and left him gasping and fighting a losing battle to stay conscious. The decision was made for him when a second, larger barrel flew through the air and crashed into him.

Sam groaned and lifted his head. He swallowed hard against the urge to throw up as the world seemed to spin around him dizzily. “Dean,” he called, softer than he meant to and fought to open his eyes. He was cold, in pain, and, as sensation finally came back to him, he realized he was wet as well. “Wha’…” The sound of water gently lapping filled the space where Sam lay. He blinked to clear his fuzzy vision and found he was lying near the top of a flooded flight of stairs. Sam pushed himself up a couple more steps away from the water and wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered with cold.

“Dean?” Sam called again, louder this time, and tried to stand. He stumbled back to his butt on the cold steps while his head pounded. “Crap.”

“Problem, bunk buddy?”

Sam jumped and turned his head to find Lucifer sitting beside him on the stairs. “No,” Sam gasped and closed his eyes. “Not real. You’re not real.”

“I’m as real as you need me to be, tiger.” Lucifer grinned when Sam flinched at the old nickname.

“Stop it.” Sam opened his eyes and moved up a step away from him. He shuddered as frost crept down the stone walls to the water and slowly turned it to ice with a soft, crackling sound that filled the stairwell and terrified him down to his bones.

“Took a little hit to the melon, Sammy,” Lucifer said and tsked softly as he reached up and brushed his fingers through the blood still sluggishly flowing down the right side of Sam’s face. “How’s that concussion feel?”

“Con…” Sam brought shaking fingers up to his own face, surprised to feel blood there. He hadn’t noticed until that moment. He shook his head once, regretting it instantly as fresh pain crashed through his skull and tried to move further away from Lucifer and out of stairwell. “S’fine. I’m fine.”

“Oh, you’re just peachy. Brain damaged, fumbling around in the cellar of an abandoned building, talking to the Devil.” Lucifer laughed and followed along as Sam stumbled out into the corridor and went to his knees again. “You’re doing great, kid.”

“Shuddup,” Sam said angrily. He used to anger to get him back on his feet. “Dean?” The sound of his own raised voice nearly drove him to his knees again in fresh pain. “God.”

“Wrong.” Lucifer chuckled and clapped his hands together next to Sam’s ear, making the young hunter cringe away from the loud noise. “Are you just gonna lay around here? What happened to that vaunted Winchester need to protect thy brother at any cost?”

“Dean.” Sam forced his aching body back to its feet. He needed to find his brother.

“Here. Let me help.”

Sam saw Lucifer walk into view and groaned softly when the devil transformed to look like his big brother. “No. No.” He dug his right thumb into the still healing scar in the palm of his left hand, but the monster wearing his brother’s face just grinned more widely.

“What’s wrong, Sammy? Your new little crutch not working so well?”

“What? No, please.” Sam closed his eyes and pressed harder until the pain in his hand started to overwhelm the pain in his head. He opened his eyes again but the vision of his brother was still there before him.

“Aw, it’s ok, little brother.”

Sam shied away when the thing that was not his brother grabbed his shoulders. “Get… get off me.”

“Sammy, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

“No. No!” Sam shoved him away and staggered away down the hall. He broke into a run with the mockery of his brother’s voice behind him and headed for the stairs.

“Sam!” Dean rolled painfully away from the wall where Sam had shoved him and groaned. “Dammit.” He knew Sam’s sanity was hanging on by a thread most days but he’d truly thought they’d found a way for him to hang on. Somehow, the devil in his little brother’s mind had gotten a hold of him again. The blood on Sam’s head and face gave Dean a good idea just what was scrambling his eggs. He picked up his shotgun, dropped in the scuffle with Sam, used the wall to regain his feet and started unsteadily after his brother.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted. He could hear Sam’s heavy steps on the floor above him and sighed. “Great. Chasing my sasquatch little brother through a haunted, abandoned brewery with a concussion of my own. Awesome. This day is awesome.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam went to his hands and knees at the top of the stairwell and gasped for breath. He wrapped a shaking hand around his head again to try and lessen the pounding headache, but it did little. He heard the shuffle of steps on the stairs behind him and then Lucifer’s soft, taunting chuckle. “No.” Sam reached up and grabbed hold of the door handle. He used it to get back to his feet and forced the old, rusted door open. Fresh air greeted him as Sam staggered out into the moonlight and looked around the brewery’s roof.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.” Lucifer smiled and appeared in the door. “Can’t get away from me that easy.”

“Leave me alone!” Sam shouted and started across the roof toward the other building. He shied away when the devil flickered into sight beside him.

“You know what you have to do if you want off the merry-go-round,” Lucifer said and waved an arm toward the edge of the building ahead of them.

Sam stopped at the edge and looked out at the old brewery sign. It stretched between the two buildings like an awkward, haphazard bridge. “Get away from me.”

“No can do, bunk buddy.” Lucifer shrugged. “But hey, how about a familiar face?”

Sam turned with something close to a sob in his throat as his brother appeared in the door to the stairwell. “Don’t use him. Please don’t use, Dean.” He turned back to the sign and climbed up to start across it.

“But I know how much you love a familiar face!” Lucifer did a little dance and followed Sam out over the expanse.

Sam looked down and swallowed hard. The street was a good sixty feet below him and in the dark, with the devil’s voice beside him and the mockery of his brother’s voice behind him, it looked like salvation. “Stop.”

“SAM!” Dean bellowed his brother’s name in fear as he reached the roof and watched Sam climb unsteadily out onto the sign. “Son of a bitch.” He broke into a run and tried desperately to think of a way to reach Sam’s mind before it was too late. “Sammy! You gotta listen to me, man! Sam, stop!” His voice cracked with desperation as he slid to a stop at the edge of the roof. The metal structure of the sign creaked and swayed slightly under Sam’s weight, and Dean wasn’t sure it would support both of them. “Dammit. If I fall…” Dean climbed up on the ledge and put a hesitant foot onto the sign. “… gonna haunt your ass, little brother. Sam! Dammit, look at me!” He inched out on the top of the sign and stopped when Sam spun and swayed to stare at him. The moonlight made the blood on his little brother’s face look black against his far too pale skin and drove Dean’s worry up even higher. “Sammy?”

“Stop using his face!” Sam shouted. The sign swayed beneath him and he went to a knee to hold on to it with tears in his eyes. “S-stop. Please.”

“Sam, it’s me. I swear to God it’s me.” Dean pleaded with him and inched a little further out onto the sign.

Sam shook his head and nearly lost his balance. “No. No, you’re… you stop! Dean!” He put a hand up to his face, fingers coated in his own blood, and swallowed back the hopeless tears crowding his eyes.

“I’m right here, Sammy.” Dean moved out another foot toward his brother. Every muscle in his body was tense with wariness; afraid of setting Sam off and sending him over the side. “Right here. I need you to come toward me. Sam. You need to come over here, ok? Just…” Dean’s voice trailed off when his breath frosted out in front of him at the same moment the EMF meter in his pocket whined to life. “Oh, come on! Not now. Not now, dammit! Sammy!”

Sam put both hands on the sign to steady himself from the spinning in his head. Lucifer knelt beside him and smiled sadly. “Get away from me.”

“Sammy. Baby. This doesn’t end well for you.” Lucifer patted Sam’s shaking shoulder. “Think it’s time for you take a dive. Don’t you?”

Dean brought his shotgun up while the EMF continued to whine. He watched Sam’s eyes turn down to the ground far below and shook his head as a bad feeling overcame him. “Sammy? Don’t you do it! Sam!” His brother’s eyes twitched over to meet his and Dean tried to smile. “Sam, I’m right here. I’m real. You gotta believe me and stop lettin’ that son of a bitch screw with your head! I…” Dean’s words cut off when the spirit appeared before him. “Crap!”

Sam’s eyes widened when a ghost appeared between him and the vision of his brother. He squinted in the moonlight and tried to make sense of his fractured thoughts. “Ghost. We’re hunting…”

“Losing your focus, kiddo.” Lucifer sat beside Sam and draped an arm over his shoulders companionably. “We’re gonna jump, right? Nothing hard about a little stage dive.”

Sam shook his head and looked away from the ghost back to the drop below him. “Where did Dean…” He frowned in confusion, trying to remember what had happened to his brother.

“Don’t have time for you,” Dean growled and aimed the shotgun at the spirit. He fired at the same moment an invisible force slammed into his chest. The world did a dizzying spin around him. His heart lodged somewhere in his throat as Dean was knocked free from the sign. He fell, dropped his shotgun and grabbed hold of the bottom of the sign with his right hand. Dean looked down in time to watch his flashlight smash apart on the ground and then slammed his eyes closed to try and get a better grip. “Sammy!”

The sound of his big brother’s voice raised in panic pulled Sam’s eyes away from the drop. He blinked in confusion when he saw the vision of his brother wasn’t where he’d last seen him. “Dean?” Sam heard his name called again and moved to see below the sign. His eyes widened in shock to see his brother, or what looked like him, dangling by one hand from beneath him.

“Sam, please!” Dean groaned and tried to get his other hand up. His left arm wasn’t strong enough after being tossed around in the cellar. His shoulder was on fire and refusing to give him the leverage he needed. “Sam!”

“Dean.” Sam crawled a foot over and studiously ignored the devil beside him in favor of looking down at Dean’s image. He held up his left hand and the healing wound there with a deep frown. “I don’t…”

“Stone… number one. Sammy, you gotta… know… know it’s me.” Dean grunted with the effort of hanging on and felt his fingers begin to slip. “Sammy, please!” His fingers began to slip. Dean took a deep breath to ready himself for the drop. His fingers lost their hold and Dean gasped in surprise when a solid hand wrapped around his wrist before he could drop more than a few inches.

“Dean.” Sam tightened his hold and felt Dean’s pulse beating strongly beneath his fingers. He held on to that and shifted his weight to get a better grip. “Hang… hang on!” The effort of pulling Dean up made the pain crash even harder through Sam’s abused skull, but he refused to give in to the dark spots beginning to cloud his vision. “Got you.”

Dean nodded. He could hear Sam’s labored breaths and see the pallor of his face beneath the drying blood. Sam didn’t have a lot of time left before he was unconscious if Dean was any judge. “Just… few more inches. You can do it!” Once his shoulder cleared the bottom of the sign, Dean threw his left arm over the iron girder at its base and swung his legs up.

“Come on.” Sam grabbed Dean’s hip and pulled, helping to roll him to safety. He slumped against his brother and shook with the fear of what he’d almost allowed to happen. “Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so…”

“Shuddup, Sam.” Dean interrupted and grabbed hold of Sam’s arm with his good hand. “You’re good, buddy.” Relief made him weak, but he knew they couldn’t afford it right then. “Gotta get you down off’a here.”

Sam nodded and used Dean’s hold on his arm to pull as he got to his feet. He looked around and swayed a little drunkenly. “How’d I get up here?”

“Later,” Dean said firmly. He started back toward the building with Sam beside him. “Watch your feet.” He steadied them both as Sam continued to tremble under his hand. “Easy, Sammy. Almost there.” Sam came quietly for which Dean was grateful and he blew out a relieved breath when his feet were on solid ground again. He turned and caught Sam as he stumbled off the sign. “Ok, Sammy. Ok.”

“Head hurts,” Sam muttered and lowered his head into his hand again.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Dean grimaced when he finally got a look at the gash on his brother’s head that ran up into his hairline. “No wonder your eggs are scrambled right now. Come on. We need to get outta here before Casper comes back.” He pulled one of Sam’s arms over his shoulders and started back across the roof toward the stairwell. “I got a good look at him, so I’ll find him in the files once we get back to the motel.”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam said again. He was choking on guilt as the hazy memories of the cellar came to back to him. “God, I left you down there alone.”

“Hey, I’m good. So are you.” Dean reassured his little brother as they entered the stairwell and started down. He sighed as he kept Sam on his feet. “Followed you all the way up here from the cellar, dude. Man, can you shag ass with a concussion.”

Sam was surprised into a smile with Dean’s soft chuckle but it quickly faded. “Ghost. Could have killed you.”

“Well, it didn’t so stop kickin’ yourself.” Dean kept Sam quiet and moving down the stairs, all while keeping an ear open for the EMF in his pocket. He was twitching with the possibility of the spirit returning while they were both unarmed. He needed to get them out fast and was glad he’d left the Impala parked right beside the building. “Keep moving. Almost there.”

Sam walked in a fog of pain and dizziness with Dean’s steady presence beside him. He opened his eyes again when he felt the familiar presence of the Impala beside him and all but collapsed into his seat when Dean pulled the door open.

“Ok, sasquatch.” Dean helped Sam get his legs into the car. He closed the door and startled when the EMF in his pocket started to whine anew. “Crap. We are outta here.” He jogged around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel just as the spirit appeared in front of the car. Dean grinned, gunned the engine and drove the classic car’s iron frame through the ghost; effectively dissipating it. “Comin’ for you, asshole.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke with a start when he heard a door bang shut and blinked his eyes open to see the blurry image of Dean moving toward him. “Dean? Wha’s goin’ on?”

Dean smirked and dropped wearily to sit on the edge of his brother’s bed. “Nothing. Nice to see you awake again.”

Sam frowned and took in Dean’s tired and dusty appearance. “Why do you look like you went gravedigging?”

“’Cause you’ve been out for the count for almost twenty hours and I needed to go take care of Harry Dobb’s ghostly ass.” Dean grinned at the look of surprise on Sam’s face.

“A whole day?” Sam struggled up slowly to sit. “Should have waited for me to back you up.”

“Just a salt and burn, dude. I had it.” Dean stood while Sam pulled the covers off his legs. “Besides, your cracked head isn’t doing anything strenuous for a few days.”

“It’s not cracked,” Sam said testily, stood and then swayed. Only Dean’s hand landing on his shoulder stopped him from falling back to the bed.

“Uh huh. That’s why. Now stop arguin’ with me.” Dean waited for Sam’s eyes to settle. “You good?”

Sam knew Dean meant more than just his concussion and he nodded. “Yeah; I just…” Sam sighed and shook his head, “… got a little confused.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s why I’m here.” Dean gave his brother a guiding push toward the bathroom. “Keep you on the straight and narrow. Go shower. You stink.”

Sam snorted a soft laugh and used the door way to keep from wobbling. “You should stop sniffing me while I sleep.”

Dean slapped a hand out to the back of Sam’s shoulder for a parting shot. “Pain in my ass, Sammy.” He smiled as the bathroom door closed and then scrubbed both hands down his face in a bid to wipe away the exhaustion and fear of the last day. His little brother was fine and whole of mind again, at least for the moment. The ghost was gone. He was still in one piece.Dean would take the victories he could get so long as they were both alive at the end of the day.

He went to the bathroom door and banged on it when he heard the shower start up. “Don’t use all the hot water, bitch!” Dean grinned at Sam’s muffled ‘Jerk!’ from the other side. “Got your back, kiddo,” he said softly.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** WriterFic22


	28. For WriterFic22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For WriterFic22 - I would love to see it set in Season 8. Dean get's a call from another Hunter. There father's both knew each other, But after Sam left for Stanford they lost contact. But somehow The guy finds a away to contact him. He pressures Dean into going on a case with him. But the entire time he hates Sam's guts. Also Sam doesn't like him either. He is very suspicious of him. So They are on a casing trying to kill a group of Witches. (Not a big group, maybe only three our four of them.) During the case The guy tries to find ways to kill Sam. But they all fail. They finally kill the group of Witches. But it results in Dean getting hurt. So when Dean is recovering The guy thinks its the best time to get rid of Sam. So when Sam is out getting more supplies, that's when he jumps him. When Sam doesn't come back the next morning Dean get's worried and tries to find him. He finally does, It results in a fight. With both the boys getting pretty banged up and Sam being rushed to the hospital. Because he got stabbed. But he luckily survives. Dean kills the man after he tried again to kill Sam after he got realized from the hospital. Dean feels guilty about it. But he knows he had to do what he had to do
> 
> A/N: Sorry about the delay on this chapter. I spent the weekend in the emergency room with a lovely surprise case of acute appendicitis. I’m down an internal organ now. Lol Writing while hopped up on painkillers the last week is something I, apparently, can’t seem to do. :P Had to wait.  
> This one is, of course, set in season 8 and just after 8x14 Trial and Error. Hope you enjoy it in spite of the wait.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean closed his phone and leaned against the kitchen counter while he thought. He heard Sam coming down the hall and sighed, unsure if he felt alright aboutdragging Sam out on a job with the trials now looming over his little brother rather than him. “Dammit.”

“Dean?” Sam heard the soft oath and turned into the kitchen. “You ok?”

Dean pocketed his phone and nodded. “Yep. Think maybe we got a job. You remember Dave Bramble?”

Sam frowned and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. “Vaguely. Wasn’t he friends with dad when we were kids?” He had a distant memory of Dave -- gruff and hardened in a way their father had already been heading toward --and of his son as well. Sam remembered him as being a quiet kid, a few inches taller than Dean, who had followed along behind his father and seemed to idolize him in the same way Dean tried to be like their own father.

“Yeah. His son, Joe, just called me.” Dean held out his hand and smiled when Sam handed him a beer of his own. “Looks like he picked up where his dad left off hunting, and he thinks he’s got a witch problem we can help with.”

Sam chuckled. “I know how much you like witches.”

Dean snorted and nodded. “Only good witch is a dead one in my book.” He took a drink of his beer and watched Sam carefully as his brother sat down, wondering if that was an actual tremor he saw or just his mind worrying itself over nothing. “He really needs help on this one. I can go meet up with him while you’re…”

“Forget it.” Sam cut him off and waved a hand. “I’m fine and you’re not leaving me behind because you think I need to be coddled.”

“I’m not coddling you.” Dean protested. “What the hell is coddling anyway? Sounds like something you do with spoiled milk.”

Sam couldn’t help the laugh and stood. “I’m coming with. Don’t change the subject. You’re not talking me out of it.”

“You’re a stubborn pain in my ass, Sammy.” Dean groaned and rolled his eyes as he followed his brother out. “Fine. But you’re hangin’ back ‘cause we don’t damn well know what these trials are gonna do to you yet.”

“Don’t be paranoid.” Sam smiled over his shoulder and turned into his room. Lying to his big brother was a risk; Dean knew him better than anyone, but he didn’t want Dean to know that he’d started coughing blood. It wasn’t too much or too bad, and he didn’t see any reason in panicking Dean when it might amount to nothing.

“Right,” Dean grumbled and went to his own room to pack his bag. “Cause you wouldn’t keep shit from me. Dammit.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Is that him?” Sam asked and watched the tall man with a head of curly blonde hair heading toward them across the motel parking lot.

“Yeah, it is. Joe!” Dean greeted the man with a smile and clasped hands with him. “Man, it’s been too long.”

“Dean!” Joe pulled Dean into a quick hug and stepped back. “You got taller than me. Not cool, man.”

Dean laughed and hooked a thumb at his brother. “Don’t talk to me, dude. Talk to the sasquatch over there.”

“Little Sammy. Wow.” Joe’s expression seemed surprised as he watched Sam walk over to them. “Never would have recognized you.”

“It’s Sam.” Sam shook his hand and couldn’t stop the almost instant feeling of something being ‘off’ about the man. “Only Dean gets to call me that.”

“Right. Uh… didn’t know you’d be coming too.” Joe shrugged and turned back to Dean. “Probably gonna want to grab a room for him, huh?”

Dean frowned. “For us.” He pushed away the moment’s discomfort Joe’s comment caused and chalked it up to too many hours in the car. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get it.” Sam patted Dean’s shoulder and headed for the rental office. “You two can catch up.”

“Sorry, man.” Joe smiled at Dean. “I thought it was just gonna be us, bunkin’ together like old times, or I would have grabbed two rooms.” He laughed. “Didn’t mean to step on little bro’s toes.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean went to the trunk and popped it open. “So, what have you been doing all these years?”

“Same thing as you, dude. Hunting.” Joe shrugged and chuckled. “Took over for the old man when he bought it a few years back. Car wreck. You believe that? Figured he’d get taken out by a wendigo or something, you know? But no. He kicks it doing eighty on a wet road.”

“Sorry, man,” Dean said sincerely. “Lost our dad a few years back too. I know how much that sucks.”

“Yeah, I heard. Don’t sweat it.” Joe waved a hand. “We got bigger fish to fry now.”

“Witches?” Dean asked with a raised brow.

“Yeah.” Joe leaned against the side of the classic car and watched Dean as he pulled two duffels from the trunk. “They’ve got at least four kills under their belt that I can account for, probably more. These bitches need to be ganked and fast.”

“You mean their altars,” Sam said as he strode back up and overheard. He took his duffel when Dean tossed it to him and held out a key. “Room twelve.”

“Pretty sure I meant what I said,” Joe replied easily. “They’re killin’ people; we kill the monsters.”

“They’re not monsters. They’re humans.” Sam set his jaw when he saw Dean give him a look and ignored it. “We don’t kill humans. At least, not the last time I checked, even stupid ones playing with witchcraft.”

“Ok, kids. Let’s play nice. Come on, Sammy.” Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulder and gave him a shove toward the room door. “You got research, Joe? Bring it over.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Dean watched Joe walk off toward his own room and bit his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure he liked the tension between the other hunter and his brother. He couldn’t figure out what had triggered it, and it worried him for a reason he couldn’t name. Of course, Sam had just been a little kid the last time they’d been together, pestering to hang out with them. Maybe Joe really had simply been hoping to have some “just-like-old-times” fun with an old friend, not the guy he remembered as a pesky little kid. Still, something about him was not sitting right with Dean, and it made him uneasy.   
  
“Joe’s a little uh…”

“Annoying? Yeah, he is.” Sam smirked at Dean’s disgusted face as his brother pushed past him into the room. “What?”

“Don’t pick a fight,” Dean warned. “Play nice with the other kids, bitch.”

“Whatever, jerk.” Sam chuckled and went to the far bed. He quirked a brow at the room’s seventies décor. Lime green and yellow circles decorated the walls while the beds were covered in red quilts. A beaded curtain hung between them and the dining area, and Sam snorted a laugh when he stuck his head in the bathroom and saw pink paisley crawling over the walls.

“Think this beats that macramé nightmare room we had outside Boulder last year.” Dean shook his head and swiped a hand through the beaded curtain.

“I don’t know. That room was pretty traumatizing.” Sam chuckled and caught the box of salt Dean tossed to him.

“Get the windows and door.” Dean pulled out a Sharpie and went for the bathroom window. “I’ll get the angel graffiti. That’ll be Joe,” he said at the knock on the door.

“Got it.” Sam pulled the door open and thought he saw a dark look on Joe’s face for just a moment before it cleared into a smile. “Hey. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Joe shifted the pile of papers in his hands and went for the table. “Well, now I know my room isn’t the only one the seventies forgot. Geez.”

Dean laughed and stopped at the table to watch while Joe spread out his research. “How long you been on this case?”

“Gimme.” Sam plucked the marker from his brother’s hand, having finished the salt lines and went to the window to start drawing the protective symbols on the wood while they talked.

“These witches are bad news, Dean.” Joe handed a stack of articles to him and sat down. “They’re cursing people left and right; cursed a few right into intensive care, and then they started flat out killin’ ‘em a few weeks ago.”

“Yech.” Dean held out a picture of a man with bees swarming out of his mouth and showed it to Sam.

“Wow. Wonder who he pissed off?” Sam plucked another picture off the pile and studied the body of a woman who had clearly died in pain. “This looks like she was dipped in something corrosive. What caused these burns?”

“Some kind of acid. The coroner couldn’t pin it down last time I checked. Doesn’t really matter.” Joe dismissed it with a shrug. “She’s just as dead.”

“I’d like to know if it was a curse or something the witches used themselves.” Sam handed the photo back and sighed. “If we have to worry about them hosing us down with it, I’d like a head’s up.”

“Duck, college boy.” Joe said easily and grinned even while Dean scowled.

“I’ll go check in with the coroner.” Sam tossed the marker to his brother’s bed now that he’d finished the wards and went for the door. “I’ll grab us something to eat while I’m out.”

“Be careful,” Dean warned and let him leave, resisting the urge to follow along. Sam could take care of himself, he knew. Once the door was closed, he fixed Joe with a hard look. “You wanna tell me what your problem with Sam is? ‘Cause contrary to popular thought, I ain’t stupid. You keep pokin’ at him like that, I’m gonna have to kick your ass on principle.”

“Whoa! I wasn’t!” Joe raised his hands and gave a small laugh. “I was just playin’ with the kid. Calm down. Now, we gonna hunt witches or not?”

“Right.” Dean wasn’t sure he believed Joe’s quick assurance and that bothered him. He began to get a bad feeling about coming out for the job. He briefly considered calling it off but knew Sam would argue and win. Bodies were on the ground and saving people was what they did, trials or not. “Do me a favor and knock it off from now on.”

“Fine. Not like he couldn’t kick my ass if he wanted to. Guy’s the size of a house now. Anyway, here.” Joe hoped he’d mollified Dean. He certainly didn’t want to pick a fight with him. It wasn’t Dean’s fault Sam was his brother, but he had been surprised to see Sam, never thinking that the two would still be running together after -- he quickly squashed that line of thinking before it could show on his face. “Possible locations.”

“Got a few choices here.” Dean studied the map and the three marks Joe had made. “You check any of these out yet?”

“Those are the three I’ve narrowed it down to. My money’s on the old brewery on the edge of town.” Joe leaned back in his chair. “Figure we can go have a look when Sam gets back.” He clasped his hands behind his head and looked at Dean. “We gonna have a problem when it comes time to gank these bitches? I mean, they’re killing people. It ain’t like they’re gonna join A.A. for witches or something.”

Dean shook his head and felt what had annoyed Sam before. “We don’t murder humans, Joe. We torch their altar and whatever book or grimoire they’re using for power. They’re done after that. You know that.”

“You didn’t use to be so squeamish about killing the monsters,” Joe observed.

“They’re not monsters, man.” Dean stepped away and wondered where the boy he’d used to know had gone, replaced by this apparently cold-hearted killer. “If you’re planning on going in guns blazing, tell me now and Sam and I are outta here.”

“Hey! You say no kill shots, I can do that.” Joe put an easy smile on his face. “I was just seeing if we were on the same page.”

“Sure as hell hope we are.” Dean was feeling worse about the job by the minute. Something about Joe was nagging him. He decided to chalk it up to his newfound paranoia about his brother’s condition and not borrow trouble. “Let’s go over this again.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam eased along the side of the abandoned brewery building. He saw Dean vanish ahead of him and turned his head to find Joe bringing up the rear behind him. He tapped his chest and pointed to the front to say he was following.

Joe nodded and let Sam move further away from him. He saw a dim, glowing line in the ground a few feet ahead of Sam and stopped himself from calling out a warning. There was a moment’s guilt for letting another hunter stumble into danger, but he quickly crushed it. Sam wasn’t just any other hunter, and Joe… Joe had a score to settle. He’d heard the stories. He knew about Sam. He watched Sam near the line, and just as the younger Winchester was about to trip it, Sam stopped and looked down and Joe sighed a soft ‘dammit.’

“Crap,” Sam whispered. He brushed his fingers along the soft, glowing line at his feet and clenched his jaw at how close he’d come to tripping some sort of trap. He looked back at Joe and pointed to make sure the man saw it before moving on. Dean would have kicked his ass for nearly stumbling on that.

Joe moved along behind Sam and cursed the young man’s quick reflexes. He could have had what he wanted and Dean would never have been the wiser if Sam just paid a little less attention. He kept his eyes open for another opportunity and was relieved Dean couldn’t read minds or he’d have likely killed him where he stood. He felt bad about that, but he hoped that eventually, without Sam around, Dean would come around and realize the monster his little brother really was.

Sam found his big brother at the corner of the brewery and thumped a hand into the back of his shoulder to let him know he was there.

“Joe?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam nodded. “Right behind me. Watch out for traps. Almost caught one back there.”

“Where was Joe?”

“On Sam’s six, where I was supposed to be,” Joe whispered as he neared the two men. “You wanna talk a little louder and let ‘em know we’re here?”

“Shuddup,” Dean snarled softly and turned away. He moved for the rear door with Sam at his side.

“No killing,” Sam said suddenly to Joe in a whisper. “Unless you have to, we’re not killing them.” He wasn’t sure he trusted Joe to keep his bullets to himself.

“Don’t worry, kid. No shooting. Got it.” Joe rolled his eyes and moved ahead to bracket the door with Dean. “ _I’m_ not a murderer.”

Sam frowned, hearing the odd emphasis Joe put on that sentence, but Dean hadn’t heard it and now was definitely not the time to have a heart to heart with the guy. The door opened and Sam took up his position at Dean’s back. The low sound of chanting voices could be heard through the building once they stepped inside. Sam smelled some sort of incense. It was powerful enough to burn his nose and make his eyes water. He saw his brother wipe at his own eyes in reaction and didn’t feel quite so bad.

Dean saw a staircase leading up on their left and flickering light ahead of them. He tapped his brother on the shoulder and pointed to the stairs. Dean scowled when Sam shook his head and gave his younger brother a push toward the stairs.

Sam went with a dark look, promising to kick Dean for sending him on the ‘safer’ path later. It wasn’t lost on him that Dean sent Joe up after him. His big brother’s overprotective streak had been in overdrive lately, and they were definitely going to have a talk about it later. He headed up the stairs and kept his eyes toward the light further into the building. If Dean wanted him to have the high ground, he was damn well going to make sure his brother’s back was covered, though having Joe at his own back didn’t give him much comfort or reassurance; there was just something about the man that rubbed him wrong, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Dean blinked to clear his eyes as the smell became stronger the closer he got to whatever fire was lighting the building. Soft tendrils of smoke floated through the air, and the low sound of voices speaking in rhythm carried to him over a tall stack of boxes. He raised his gun and rounded the line of boxes to find four women surrounding a bonfire, each dressed in stereotypical black robes that made him roll his eyes.

“You’d think someone would update the dress code for you morons like once a century or something. Hi, ladies,” Dean grinned when they gasped and spun to stare at him. “This is the part where you tell me where the altar is and everyone walks away alive. So, where’s your altar?”

One of the women chuckled and held her hands out. “Why should we be afraid of you? You have no idea the power we can call on.”

“Yeah. I really do.” Dean cocked his gun and forced himself not to look up for his brother and give Sam’s position away. “You’re the ones who don’t know what you’re screwin’ with. You think this ends well for you? You really wanna be demonic chew-toys in hell for all eternity just so you can what? Have a better stock option than your neighbor?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you idiot!” One of the women tossed her hood back to reveal a cloud of tightly curled, red hair and she glared at Dean. “But it doesn’t matter. You’ll die here tonight.”

“Nobody’s gotta die tonight, sister,” Dean moved to keep all of the women in view and scanned the area around them for a sign of their altar. He knew it had to be somewhere nearby and it needed burning.

“Our master will see you suffer in the deepest pits of hell.” The redhead sneered at him.

Dean laughed and shrugged. “Too late. I already got the t-shirt. Now. Altar. Where?” A sudden shout drew Dean’s eyes up, and he stared in shocked surprise when Sam tumbled into view over a walkway and grabbed hold at the last moment to dangle by one arm. “Sammy?”

Sam looked up and saw Joe above him before the man went after the two witches who’d surprised them. He shook his head and got his other hand on the railing. “I’m fine! Find the damn altar, Dean!” Sam pulled himself up and startled at the sound of gunfire from further down the walkway. “Joe, dammit!”

Dean growled and put his attention back on the women just in time to see them all look reflexively toward a large crate on the other side of the brewery. He smiled. Sam had made them look. “One side, ladies.” Dean moved toward the crate while keepingthe gun on them. Two of the women drew long knives that glinted in the firelight and Dean snorted. He waggled his gun for effect. “Really? Have we learned nothing from Indiana Jones? Back off.”

Sam ran down the walkway to Joe and stared in shock at the bodies of two women. They were dead, and each had a bullet hole between the eyes. “What the hell did you do?”

“They came at me.” Joe shrugged and smiled at Sam. “Probably oughta go back up your brother now.”

Sam stepped aside as Joe shoved past him and looked back at the dead women. They each had a knife beside them, and he couldn’t believe Joe had killed them so cold-bloodedly. He knew he’d had a bad feeling about the guy. “Never working with him again. Never.” Sam coughed and hurriedly hid his face in his elbow before turning to follow Joe. He staggered once and caught himself on the railing. Down below, he saw Dean cracking open the lock on a large crate. Sam’s eyes widened and he raised his gun. “Dean! Look out!”

Dean turned to find three of the witches moving on him. He fired quickly and took one in the leg while a second shot came from his brother above that spun another of the women around with a shoulder wound. He smiled, taking aim for the third and gasped as her knife flew and embedded itself in his left shoulder. “Crap!”

“Dean! No!” Sam yelled. He turned and ran for the stairs, passing Joe in a rush. He thundered down the steps onto the brewery floor. Sam sprinted the distance to his brother and tackled the witch standing over him preparing to finish the job with a second knife she must have scooped up from one of her fallen cohorts. He punched her across the jaw, knocking her senseless and was at his brother’s side in a moment. “Dean? Dean!” Sam pulled him up and leaned him against the crate. The knife stood out from Dean’s shoulder in a wash of blood, and Sam swallowed hard around the fear.

“Sammy. Bitch… was fast.” Dean gave a weak, choked laugh and groaned. “Crap that hurts. Get it out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok. Just…” Sam shook his head and took hold of the hilt of the knife. “Take a breath.” He waited a second and then jerked the blade out of his brother. Dean shouted hoarsely and slumped into him. “Dean?”

“What the hell happened?” Joe demanded as he reached them and saw Dean. He turned to the two witches collapsed to the ground clutching at their injuriesand leveled his gun.

“No!” Sam yelled. “You want to do something useful, burn the damn altar! It’s in here!” Sam pointed to the crate behind them with certainty. There was no other reason for Dean to have been trying to get into the thing. “Do that and they’re powerless. No more killing!” He waited until Joe moved to the crate before turning back to his brother. “Ok, Dean.” Sam dug a bandanna out of his pocket and pressed it hard over the bleeding wound. “You wanna wake up and stop freaking me out, that’d be nice. Otherwise, I’m dragging your ass into the nearest hospital.”

“Mmm… no hospital,” Dean groaned softly and opened his eyes. “S’just… it’s not bad.”

“Right; ‘cause getting ventilated by a pissed off witch is ok.” Sam rolled his eyes and helped Dean sit up on his own. “I need to get a better look at this.”

“Motel. Ge’me up.” Dean took his brother’s arm and let Sam grudgingly pull him to his feet where he swayed for a moment. “Holy crap.” He turned his head when he heard the crackle of flames and Joe emerged from the crate dusting his hands. “Altar toast?”

“Yeah; they’re done. Come on.” Joe reached for Dean’s other arm and scowled when Sam batted his hand away.

“I’ve got him,” Sam said seriously, the warning to back off clear in his voice. “Let’s go, Dean.”

Dean waited until they were a few paces ahead of Joe before looking over at Sam. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“He killed two of them,” Sam said softly. “He executed them, Dean. I know he used to be a friend of yours, but… I just don’t think he’s anyone we want to be working with anymore.”

“Must’a had a reason,” Dean said though he was beginning to wonder. He just didn’t want to think badly of anyone who had once been as close to a friend as he got in his youth. There were precious few of them left anymore. “Let’s just get outta here.”

“Yeah.” Sam steered Dean out of the brewery with the uncomfortable presence of Joe at their backs and smiled when they finally emerged and he saw the Impala.

“Meet you at the motel,” Joe said and peeled away to go for his own car.

“Sure.” Sam watched him go with relief and opened the passenger door. “Ok, stop whining,” he said when Dean groaned theatrically as he sat down.

“Hey, stabbed here!” Dean pointed to his bloody shoulder with a smirk. “I’m allowed to whine a little.”

“That’s not what you tell me.” Sam closed the door with a chuckle and went around to get behind the wheel.

“I’m older.” Dean grinned over at Sam as the engine started. “I get to whine. Big brother’s privilege.”

“Yeah; you keep telling yourself that.” Sam snorted and pulled away from the brewery. “And keep pressure on that wound you idiot.”

“Nag. Nag. Nag.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean watched his brother and Joe from the bed. They’d started arguing the moment Joe had walked into the motel room and ten minutes later, neither one was showing signs of backing down, which just made Dean’s shoulder throb harder.

“You didn’t have to kill them!” Sam shouted and barely resisted the urge to punch the older hunter.

“They came at us with friggin’ knives, man!” Joe yelled back. “What was I supposed to do? Ask them nicely to please not throw the nice hunter off the bridge and, hey, don’t stab me? Get over it!”

“You’re a trained hunter, dammit!” Sam bellowed back. “You could have disarmed them! Shot to wound them --not executed them like you were out hunting deer! Those were people!”

“They were witches and now they’re dead witches! I really don’t see the problem here!” Joe grabbed a coffee cup from the table and threw it at the far wall. “They tried to kill me. I killed ‘em right back.” He slapped a hand out and pushed past Sam to open the door. “Dean, I don’t know how you deal with this. He’s all yours. Nice huntin’ with _you_ again.”

Sam sent a parting kick to the door as it closed behind Joe and took a deep breath. “I hate that asshole.”

“No kidding.” Dean pushed up a little higher on the pillows and sighed. “Look, he jumped wrong. He shouldn’t have killed them, I agree. But can we maybe deal with the fact I’m still bleedin’ here?”

“Shit. Yeah. Sorry.” Sam blew out his breath and grabbed the first aid kit. “He just pissed me off.”

“I noticed.” Dean let Sam pull him forward and help him get his jacket and flannel off and leaned back with a grunt. “This sucks.”

Sam nodded. “Get this cleaned up and I’ll go grab some supplies. I don’t think we’re gonna go anywhere for a couple days while you heal.”

“I can heal at the bunker.”

“Right. And drive for seven hours with that shoulder screaming at you in the car?” Sam smirked. “Just suck it up and relax for once, Dean. Now, be quiet so I don’t stitch your shoulder to your jaw.”

“Smartass.”

“Better than being a dumbass,” Sam fired back quickly and took the punch to his shoulder with a laugh.

By the time Sam was finished cleaning, stitching, and bandaging the wound, Dean had long-since passed out. Sam made him as comfortable as he could, tucking an extra pillow behind his brother’s shoulder and wiping the sweat off his face with his discarded t-shirt. “Sorry I didn’t have your back, Dean,” he said softly and sighed. “I shouldn’t have let you split us up, not with Joe there. God, I screwed up.”

Sam rose carefully so as not to wake him and grabbed his jacket. “I’m gonna go grab some stuff. I’ll be back soon, not that you can hear me right now.” He chuckled and went to the door. Sam stepped outside and made sure the door was locked before going to the Impala. He put the keys in the door and groaned when he saw Joe out of the corner of his eye.

“Joe. Man, if you’re looking for another fight…”

“Nope.”

Sam grunted in surprise when something heavy collided with the back of his head and then he knew nothing else as he slid down the side of the Impala to the ground.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean groaned and opened his eyes. They were heavy with exhaustion, and he groaned again as he moved and his shoulder sent a little stab of pain through him. “Ow, crap. Sammy?” He glanced over, expecting to find his little brother asleep in the next bed and frowned when he wasn’t. Dean looked up and saw the bathroom door was open and dark and confusion turned to worry as he peered blurrily at the clock and realized it was almost nine in the morning. “Sam!” He pushed up on his good elbow and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Dammit, Sam. You better be gettin’ coffee.” Dean took a steadying breath and rolled carefully out of the bed and to his feet. He swayed once and then made his way to the bathroom, relieving himself before staggering to the door to look outside. The Impala was where they’d left it the night before, and concern became fear. “What the hell’s goin’ on?” Dean walked outside, shivering as the cold morning air hit his bare chest, and went to the driver’s side. The sight that met him froze his breath in his lungs; the keys were hanging out of the lock on the driver’s side door and his little brother was nowhere in sight.

“Sam!” Dean shouted and looked around the mostly empty parking lot. “Shit!” He turned and moved as fast as he could down the row of doors to Joe’s. Dean pounded on it to wake the other hunter. “Joe! Get up, dammit! I think something grabbed Sam! Joe! Son of a bitch.” Dean, not willing to wait for the man to wake up, stepped back and gave the door a solid kick. It popped open with a crunch and Dean pushed inside.

“Sorry about your door but this is an…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he found the room unoccupied. Joe’s things were still there on the far bed, but he was nowhere around. Worse was the sight that met him on the opposite wall. There were newspaper clippings and pictures, and as Dean neared, he realized nearly all of them were from the days of the impending apocalypse. There were some candid shots of him and Sam and a few that looked like they’d been taken with a cheap spy camera. “What the hell is this?” Dean breathed in shock. He scanned the articles and grabbed a battered journal on the shelf below the wall. Opening it, he found detailed notes on Sam and a lot of advice attributed to Walt, the psycho hunter that was still on Dean’s ‘to-die-for-screwing-with-Sammy’ list. The only rational explanation was that, while they had been hunting witches, Joe had been hunting Sam, and the son of a bitch was getting help from Walt.

“Oh, God.” Dean groaned and ran out and back to his room. He snatched his phone from the bedside table and dialed his brother. “Dammit!” Dean shouted when Sam’s ringtone came from the table. He hung up and dialed Joe, hoping against hope the asshole would answer. He didn’t and the phone eventually went to voicemail. “Ok. Four rings is good.” Dean snarled and went to the table. He pulled open Sam’s laptop and dropped into the seat, all pain from his wounded shoulder forgotten. “Four rings means your stupid ass left your phone on and I can track you. Rookie move, jackass and I’m gonna make you choke on it.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam shouted in pain when Joe sliced his left forearm open, laying a long line next to the first. He was purposefully avoiding hitting the artery. He was more inclined to cause Sam pain right then than to kill him just yet. The similarity of the wounds wasn’t lost on Sam from the last time his arms had been laid open by two enterprising ghouls, one of whom had been wearing their little brother’s face. He shuddered with the memory as his blood washed over his skin and tried to slow his breathing.

“Joe, why…”

“You deserve death, Sam.” Joe stepped back to look at him, at the blood covering Sam’s arms and chest and smiled. “This is justice. You started the apocalypse. You consorted with demons. Dean may be able to look the other way, but some of us remember.” He punched Sam across the jaw, smiling again at the grunt of pain. “Hunters have long memories Sam. I remember that time – all the demons everywhere. All the fear. All the death. Disasters.I didn’t know then, but I do now. It was you; it was all because of you.”

“How?” Sam gasped and spit a gob of blood to the rough wood floor.

“Your old buddy, Walt. Bet you remember him.” Joe shrugged. “He’s been going around trying to make sure the world doesn’t forget what you almost did to it; all the people who died because of you.”

“I stopped it. Dean and me.” Sam pulled at his bonds to no avail. “We stopped it, Joe. You don’t understand. We were always just trying to stop it.”

“I understand just fine.” Joe leaned in and slowly stabbed the blade into Sam’s wrist and through the other side, reveling in the pain he was causing. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve. Nothing, but it’s the best I can do.”

Sam panted for breath through the fresh wave of pain and shook his head. “I jumped… into the cage… into hell… to save you. To save everyone. I was there for… God.” Sam hung his head and tried not to cry. “Almost two hundred years. Two hundred years, Joe. Can you even… imagine? Two hundred years with the devil.” He laughed, but it was humorless and pained. “The really pissed off devil because I… screwed his plans to hell. Literally.” Sam looked up and gave a tear-filled snort of laughter. “You think there’s anything you can think of that hasn’t already been done to me and worse?”

Joe stopped and actually thought about that for a moment. The idea was actually kind of terrifying. “How’d you get out then, huh? If that’s true, how are you even here?”

Sam gave a bitter laugh. “Angels. They’re dickbags, by the way.” He coughed and watched Joe lower the knife to his side. “You should run,” Sam said suddenly and looked sincerely back up at Joe. “I mean it. After you, you know, kill me or whatever, you should run. Change your name, pick a different country, dude, ‘cause Dean… he will NEVER stop hunting you. I don’t really give a damn if you die but Dean… Dean shouldn’t have your worthless blood on his hands. Not for me. Run. Friendly advice.”

Joe’s face hardened again. He tossed the knife aside and pulled his gun from his waistband. He chambered a round and pointed it at Sam’s chest. “Thanks for that, but I don’t think he’s gonna be much of a problem.”

“That’s because you’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Dean’s gravelly voice carried out of the darkness, and Joe jumped in shock.

“Holy shit!”

“Told… told you,” Sam let his head fall, beginning to lose the battle to stay alert now that Dean was where he belonged -- at his back.

Dean rounded the stack of crates where the witches had hidden the night before and glared death at Joe. He hadn’t believed it when he’d tracked the man’s cell phone to the same brewery they’d been in not eight hours before. “Left your phone on, genius, and I tracked it. Now get the hell away from my little brother before I end you.”

Joe somehow managed to keep his gun steadily pointed at Sam and took a step closer to his captive. “He needs to die, Dean. He started the apocalypse! I know you see that!”

“I know way more than you, you moron. We were played from day one! Fuckin’ angels and demons both, and we never had a damn chance! And Sam? He sacrificed himself to save your sorry ass, so you get that gun off him NOW!”

“Doesn’t matter.” Joe flinched with Dean’s bellow and cocked the hammer back on his gun. “This is justice.”

“This is murder!” Dean shouted. “And you can bet that when I’m done with you, Walt’s next on my list. I owe him a death.”

“Dean.”

Sam’s soft, pained voice drew Dean’s eyes and he shook his head. “Don’t you dare, Sammy. I let you talk me out of ganking him once. Ain’t happenin’ again. Not this time. Not after this. Joe, get away from him now! Don’t make me kill you!” Dean watched and saw the minute tension in Joe’s shoulders and knew he was going to shoot. Dean fired and hit Joe just under his shoulder in the side of his chest and startled forward on a horrified shout when Joe’s gun went off as he fell.

“Sammy!” Dean ran to his brother as blood began to pour down his chest. “No, no, no!” Joe fell dead to the floor beside them, but Dean’s eyes were all for his brother. “Sam? Come on, gimme a sign here. Sam!” The bullet had entered his chest too high and to the right to hit his heart, but it was bad. Dean pulled out his cell and dialed 911. Normally, he’d have dragged Sam out himself to the nearest hospital, but he knew where they were and how far away from help, and a life flight could well be Sam’s only chance. “Hang on, Sammy.” Dean pressed his hand hard over the wound as the operator picked up, and he prayed to whatever power for good was in the universe that might still listen to him, that this wasn’t the day he lost his brother for good.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean sat beside his brother’s bed and tried not to think the worst. He watched Sam in the depths of what the doctors told him was an induced coma and could have happily shot all of them. Didn’t they understand how badly he needed to see Sam awake? To see his damn eyes so he knew he hadn’t been too late? The steady beep of the heart monitor gave him little comfort without Sam’s force of personality in the room.

“Don’t you do this to me, Sammy,” Dean whispered and leaned in to rest a hand on the too-chilled side of his brother’s neck. “’Cause I promise you, you check out on me and I’m comin’ right after you.” He glared at the ventilator holding Sam’s mouth open and the wires trailing out from beneath the standard issue hospital gown. All it did was emphasize just how pale Sam still was; how still. “Sammy, please. We still got work to do. Got some hellgates need permanent closing, and you gotta be there for that man. I’m not doin’ it without you.”

“Mr. Drysdale?”

Dean looked up and saw Sam’s doctor in the door. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s coming along nicely.” Dr. Aarons stepped in and stood over Sam across from his brother. “All things considered, he’s doing really well. You made the right decision in calling for a life flight instead of trying to get him here yourself. He’d lost far too much blood volume to have made it.”

Dean shivered and nodded. “You’re sure he’s gonna be ok?”

“He should be fine. He’s past the worst of it now, and his vitals have been getting stronger in the last twelve hours. Sam might even wake up soon, and I’ll need you to keep him calm until we can remove the vent.” The doctor smiled and patted Sam’s shoulder before looking at Dean again. “I’m told the monster that did this to him won’t be hurting anyone else.”

Dean nodded again. “He’s dead. He didn’t give me a choice,” he said miserably and ducked his head. He was sure that Sam would have found another way. It felt like the same old failure all over again; failure to protect Sam and failure to find a way to resolve something that didn’t involve killing a human being.

“Dean.” Dr. Aarons waited for Dean’s eyes to roll back up to his. “The man who did these things to your brother, he was clearly trying to kill him in the slowest, most painful way possible. You did what you had to do, and the responding officers have assured me that the state isn’t looking to press charges against you for that man’s death. You saved your brother’s life, Dean. Be proud of that.”

“Yeah.” Dean watched the doctor leave and felt anything but proud. It was his fault Sam had been in that position in the first place. He rubbed a hand over the throbbing stab wound in his shoulder and sighed. “Really wish you’d wake up, dude. I could use some of that forgiveness you’re so good at handing out to me.”

Dean startled when he felt Sam twitch beneath his hand and leaned up over his brother’s head. “Sammy?” He watched while Sam’s eyes began to move slowly beneath his closed lids and grinned. “That’s it, Sam. Come on. Wake up, buddy.” Sam’s body shivered and Dean watched his eyes flutter open to reveal a still drug-glazed blue-green that made Dean smile even wider. He grabbed both of Sam’s hands when his eyes went wide and he tried to reach for the tube in his mouth.

“Sammy, don’t. Relax!” Dean waited for Sam’s skittering eyes to find his and a measure of calm slid into them. “You’re alright. But they’ve got you on this vent thing, ok? Don’t fight it. Just hang on.” Dean reached over and pressed the call button for the nurse and grabbed his brother’s hands again. “Promise. We’ll get that thing outta you in a minute. You’re ok.”

Sam stared up at his big brother and the lingering fear in his eyes and knew it had been close. He narrowed his eyes, needing to know what had happened.

Dean nodded, reading the message clearly. “He shot you. I didn’t shoot him in time. You’ve, uh, you’ve got a cracked sternum. They patched you up, but you lost a lot of blood. I, uh… I had to kill him, Sammy. I’m sorry, but he didn’t leave me a choice.” He watched the new expression slide across Sam’s face and rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not wallowing in guilt, ok?”

Sam would have snorted if not for the tube in his throat. Instead, he freed one hand and raised his bandaged arm up to lightly slap the side of Dean’s head. He knew damn well Dean was kicking himself for killing someone, however impossible the situation had been.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. I’ll stop kicking myself.” Dean smiled and felt relief blow through him in a warm wave now that Sam was awake. He looked up when the nurse came in and his smile widened. “He’s awake. Any chance we can get this tube outta him before he takes it out himself?”

The nurse chuckled and nodded. “I think so. I’ll just go get Dr. Aarons. Welcome back, Sam.”

“See that, tiger?” Dean thumped Sam’s shoulder lightly. “You got the nurses soft on you and you haven’t even been awake.”

Sam smiled around the tube, and now that he knew it was going to come out, he couldn’t help trying to fight the machine forcing air into his lungs and tried to cough around the intrusion.

“Knock it off. Just relax for a few more minutes.” Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder and waited with him.

Sam suffered through the doctor checking him over, poking painful wounds and flashing his stomach to a very pretty and flustered nurse who blushed hard at the knowing leer Dean gave her. He breathed in when told and blew out while the tube was pulled from his throat. He burst into a coughing fit that bent him double and sent fresh waves of pain searing through his chest, and then Dean was there. His big brother slid an arm across his chest and put a hand to his back and held onto him while the coughing subsided and he was finally spent and gasping in his brother’s grip.

“Let’s ease him back now, shall we?” Dr. Aarons smiled and helped Dean settle his little brother slowly back into the bed. “You throat is going to be sore for a while, Sam. Nothing to worry about. I’ll have the nurse bring in some ice chips for you. Your chest is going to be your biggest pain for a couple of weeks, but your sternum should knit nicely. You have a fair number of stitches in your chest and arms, and we’re going to have to keep an eye on the puncture wound in your right wrist. If it becomes infected, we could have a problem, but I don’t think it will if you keep it clean.” He chuckled. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he said with a glance at Dean who nodded quickly.

“He’ll take care of it properly or I’ll kick his ass.” Dean grinned and shrugged when his brother coughed again and glared at him. “How you feelin’?”

“Like…” Sam stopped and had to cough again around his rough throat. “… like I had a tube shoved… shoved down my throat. Sucks.”

“You sound like a frog, dude,” Dean laughed and took the cup of ice chips and spoon the nurse brought in. “Doc. Thanks.” Dean looked at the man sincerely and smiled.

“Don’t mention it. Take it easy tonight, Sam. I’ll check on you when I’m back on shift in the morning. Good night, boys.”

Sam waved as the doctor left and made a grab for the cup from his brother. “Want.”

Dean snorted and spooned up a pile of chips. “Here. Don’t argue with me.” He held out the spoon and smirked when Sam groaned and gave in, letting Dean spoon the ice into his mouth.

“Thanks,” Sam said and swallowed them, soothing his throat. He looked at Dean again and grabbed his brother’s shoulder weakly. “Dean. Really… thank you. Saved my ass.”

“Your ass was in that position in the first place because of me, Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “I should have listened to you when you said you didn’t trust him.”

“Couldn’t have known.” Sam caught the cup of ice chips and took it from his brother. “Not your fault, Dean. His.”

Dean braced Sam’s chest while his brother started coughing again and leaned back when Sam finally collapsed back into the bed again. “Well, he paid for it.” He met Sam’s eyes and scowled. “Walt’s gonna pay too, and I don’t want any crap from you on that one.”

Sam shook his head and gave a sad smile. “No defending Walt. He’s too dangerous.”

Dean nodded. “Good.” He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the side of Sam’s bed. “Get some sleep, princess. You look like crap.”

Sam smiled. The translation was ‘I’m glad you’re not dead and I really need you to stick around,’ but words like that never left Dean Winchester’s mouth, not where people could actually hear them. “Thank you,” Sam said again in his hoarse voice and settled heavier into the pillows piled behind him, and his thank you was everything from ‘I’m lucky you’re my big brother’ to ‘I love you.’ And Sam smiled at Dean’s answering, accepting grunt. They really were getting better at this communication thing thanks to the Trials.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	29. For Hacked It Out and Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Hacked It Out and Fell - Outrunning the pissed off monster chasing you should be easy if you have legs as long as Sam Winchester, unfortunately those long legs don't help you when you step into the prairie dog hole you don't see as you run for your life.
> 
> A/N: Post 1x12 ‘Faith’. Oh no, not another excuse to whump on Sam! HAHAHA Yeah. I’m on this like Dean on pie. :P

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam risked a glance over his shoulder and the sight made him put on another burst of speed. Dean was miraculously keeping pace with him to his left, and who could blame him? It wasn’t every day you went into a forest hunting a wendigo and found yourself being chased by a giant, mutated crocodile that ran on two legs like it was sprinting for the gold.

“Sam, move it!”

“I am!” Sam gasped and tried to find even more speed as he kept an eye on his big brother. He had no intention of leaving Dean behind to that thing. The flares had been useless against it, had simply bounced off it its thick hide, and if the bullets had done more than piss it off, Sam wasn’t seeing it.

“We need… bigger guns,” Dean panted and neatly hopped a log as he kept up with Sam. That was no easy task given the kid’s legs were a mile longer than his. He could hear the creature behind them as it crashed through the undergrowth, and its peculiar roar carried through the crisp, early morning air. They had spent the better part of the night playing hide and seek with the damn thing once Dean realized their weapons were useless, and finally, just as the sun had risen, it had found them. “Hundred… hundred more… yards… to the car!”

Sam nodded and didn’t bother answering, conserving his breath as he pumped his legs and could almost feel the creature breathing down the back of his neck. “This is… not good!”

“No shit!” Dean skirted around a tree, dropping a few paces behind Sam and tried to make up the difference, but his energy was starting to flag. He put his head down and kept moving. Giving up was not built into Winchester men, dammit.

Sam chanced another look back and frowned. The creature was perhaps a hundred paces behind them, and Dean was now lagging behind him, and he didn’t like it. It was too soon after nearly losing Dean to the rawhead. His fear of watching his brother die was still too close, and Sam reached back to grab Dean’s arm and pull him alongside him. “Come ON!”

“Friggin… sasquatch… legs,” Dean huffed and caught up with him, shaking his arm loose from his brother’s grip. “It’s catchin’ up.”

Sam nodded and tried to catch his breath through the stitch in his side. They had been running for two miles at least, full out, and the effort was catching up with them both. “How much farther… car?”

“Fifty yards!” Dean said firmly and sincerely hoped he was right about how close they were to his baby. His lungs were burning with the effort of staying ahead of the creature, and just as Sam passed him again, his little brother came to a sudden stop with a shout of pain and collapsed to the ground face first. “Sam!”

Sam yelled out his pain as his left leg sank into the ground suddenly. His ankle and knee twisted, and he crashed forward to land on his chest as his brother yelled his name. “Holy… crap,” Sam panted through the pain and wheezed for air. He tried to move and another agonized shout was torn from him as his leg moved.

“No, no, no!” Dean slid to a stop and turned to face the creature. It came in a rush, sensing that its prey was wounded and there was no time. Dean ran back toward the log and vaulted it ahead of the beast. He swung his legs up and kicked it in the head. It stumbled sideways in surprise and rolled to the ground while Dean regained his footing. He scrambled back to his brother and dropped beside him. “Sammy?”

“Leg,” Sam panted and gripped hold of Dean’s arm. “Get me up. Gotta move!”

“Dammit.” Dean wanted to give him time, but they had none. He looked back and the misshapen croc was struggling back to its feet. “Ok, this is gonna hurt. Just hold on to me.” Dean took hold of Sam’s arm and stood, pulling his brother with him. He cringed at the pained cry Sam couldn’t hold back and then tipped him over his shoulders as he broke into a staggering run.

“Dean!”

“Shuddup!” Dean gasped and kept moving as fast as he could, pushing himself for more speed. “Move better… this way.”

Sam braced his hands low on Dean’s back and tipped his head up. The creature, lost for a moment behind a screen of trees suddenly appeared with a roar and was after them once more. “Dean!”

“I know,” Dean groaned and found a new burst of speed somewhere, even with Sam’s heavy weight over his shoulder. He grinned when the Impala’s gleaming black shape came into view and ran for the safety she offered. Dean didn’t bother running around the car to get Sam in. There was no time with the creature snarling threats behind them. He wrenched open the driver’s side and tumbled Sam into the seat, following him inside and slid behind the wheel with his brother’s legs in his lap.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said as pulled the door closed, jammed the keys into the ignition and peeled away from the edge of the forest. The creature appeared and slid into view behind the car as they made their escape and Dean ran a quick hand over the dash in silent thanks before reaching out to grab Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy? You good?”

“No,” Sam groaned and clenched his teeth together to try and ride out the pain. Having his legs trapped across Dean’s lap left him twisted awkwardly in the seat but they couldn’t afford to stop yet and straighten him out; not with a pissed-off, mutated crocodile still chasing behind them.

“Damn, that thing does not know when to quit!” Dean watched the creature in the rearview mirror and pressed harder on the gas with a silent apology to his car. “Promise I’ll clean all the mud off your undercarriage later, baby.”

Sam gave a soft, pained laugh and tried to straighten his left leg. The movement was a mistake, sending a fresh wave of agony through him that stole his breath. “Crap!”

“Stop squirmin’.” Dean put a hand on his brother’s knee and stopped his left leg from twitching. “Just gonna make it hurt more. Hang on.” He floored it and sped down the rough dirt road and out of the forest. He didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until the creature vanished from his mirrors and they were heading back toward town. “So, clinic?”

Sam blew out a breath and nodded miserably as he leaned against the passenger door. “Yeah. Dammit.”

The drive back into town seemed to take longer than it had coming out for Sam as he simply tried to breathe through the waves of pain from his leg. He was close to whimpering by the time Dean pulled up and parked outside the small clinic. “S’broken, isn’t it?”

Dean turned off the car and looked down at Sam’s legs in his lap. He shook his head. “I don’t know, man. Might be.” He could see that Sam’s left leg from the knee down was swollen in his jeans. “Ok, take a deep breath. This ain’t gonna be fun.” He waited for Sam’s nod and pushed his door open. “Sorry about this,” Dean said softly as he started to pull himself from the seat and under Sam’s legs. The movement made his brother cry out, and Dean cringed as Sam’s left knee shifted and Sam suddenly went limp. “Sam?”

Dean rounded the car in a rush and pulled the passenger door open. He caught Sam’s shoulders as he slumped out and sighed in relief. He was unconscious. “Ok, buddy. Get you taken care of in no time.”

“Do you need help there?”

Dean turned and saw a dark haired man in scrubs come out of the clinic’s door and Dean waved. “Yeah. My brother’s out cold! Screwed up his leg!”

“Ok! I’ll get a gurney!”

“Thanks!” Dean turned back to Sam and supported him in the open door. “I’m really gonna enjoy ganking that son of a bitch.”

Dean helped them extricate his gigantic little brother from the car and followed the gurney inside. He snarled when he was pushed away and told to stay in the waiting room. Being separated from him while Sam was in pain was never easy for him, especially in hospitals. He hated the way nurses and doctors would give a sort of disinterested pity each time they passed. It felt cold and clinical, and Sam deserved better treatment than that.

“Family of Samuel Loggins?” A doctor asked as he entered the waiting room.

Dean was immediately on his feet and strode to meet him. “How is he? It’s been two damn hours and no one’s told me shit!”

“Please calm down, sir. Your brother’s going to be fine.” The doctor smiled and held out a hand for Dean to follow him. “It’s a miracle nothing’s actually broken, but he does have some impressive torsion injuries in his knee and ankle and two severely sprained ligaments. We’ve done what we can but it’s going to take time and care now for him to heal properly. He’s going to need to stay off that leg as much as possible for the next week.”

“No problem,” Dean said surely. “I’ll make sure of it even if he wants to kill me later.”

The doctor chuckled and stopped outside a room door. “So, you’d be the older brother then. Go on in. He’s a little loopy from the painkillers and muscle relaxers, but he can leave in an hour or so. I just want him on the monitors for a little while longer to be sure. I’ll collect some information for you for care at home and get his prescriptions and be back.”

“Thanks, doc.” Dean smiled and pushed open the door. “Sammy?” His little brother was laid out in a hospital bed with his left leg wrapped in a brace from foot to mid-thigh and propped up on several pillows to keep it elevated.

“Dean?” Sam raised his head and blinked to bring his vision into focus. He smiled as his brother moved up alongside the bed. “Howdy.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Howdy? Dude, the doc was right. You _are_ high.”

Sam chuckled and waved his hand around until it thumped into Dean’s hip and he grabbed his arm. “We gonna… bust outta here? M’good.”

“You’re toasty.” Dean grinned and pried Sam’s fingers out of his sleeve, taking hold of his hand. “They want you on the monitors a little longer to make sure you’re ok. After that, we can Escape from Alcatraz this place if you wanna.”

“I get’a be Clint this time?” Sam slurred sleepily and let his eyes close. The combination of drugs in his system assured that he was feeling no pain.

“Dude, I’m Clint Eastwood. You know that.” Dean laughed and set his brother’s arm back on the bed. “Get some sleep, princess.”

“M’not a… not a princess.” Sam tipped his head toward his brother and let sleep claim him with a lazy smile on his face.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean pushed open the motel room door and looked over at his brother. “You know, I think I miss you high on the muscle relaxers.”

Sam flipped Dean the finger from his bed and grimaced as he tried to find a comfortable position for his aching leg. “I’m fine.”

“You’d be more fine if you’d take the damn pills.” Dean picked up the bottle from the table and shook it at his brother meaningfully.

“They make me wanna puke,” Sam replied grumpily and flopped back with a defeated groan.

“Hey, I’ll even hold the bucket for ya’,” Dean smirked and tossed the pills onto the bed next to him. He set the bag he’d brought in on his own bed and opened it. “One time offer, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“That any way to talk to the guy who found hot packs for your bum sasquatch leg?” Dean held up the box and shrugged. “’Course if you don’t want them…”

“Yes! Yes, I want them.” Sam held out a hand and smiled through the pain. “Dean, come on.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat next to his brother while he took one of the heat packs and cracked it. It quickly warmed in his hands and he set it over Sam’s knee before grabbing the other one and doing the same, laying it over his ankle. “Like I’d let you suffer, princess.”

Sam groaned loud and long as the warmth began to soak into his aching knee and settled heavier back into the bed. “Oh, my God.”

“Ok, now you’re just makin’ this weird.” Dean chuckled and made sure the packs wouldn’t fall off. He picked up the pill bottle and shook two out. “Now take these. No points for being a stubborn ass, little brother.”

“Always works for you and dad,” Sam said softly with a smile and closed his eyes as the pain began to ease a little. He did open his eyes however and gave Dean what he wanted. He took the pills with the bottle of water Dean held out for him and even managed a ‘thank you’.

“Ha ha.” Dean snorted and ran a hand over his brother’s forehead. The doctor had said a low fever would be normal, and sure enough, Sam was warm to his touch before his hand was batted away.

“I’m fine.” Sam sighed and rolled his head toward his brother. “We need to go kill that thing.”

“We will, but not until you can walk again,” he said and snorted a laugh. “And assuming we can figure what the hell that thing even is and how to gank it.” Dean squeezed his shoulder and stood. “And that’s gonna be at least a week. No screwin’ around, Sammy. You do too much too soon and you could end up lame. You heard the doc. You’re on the bench for a while.”

“Dean, that thing’s not gonna stop killing because I fell in a damn gopher hole!” Sam leaned back up and gasped as it moved his leg wrong.

“Take it easy already.” Dean sat back down and straightened Sam’s leg out. He put a hand on the side of his brother’s neck and waited while Sam breathed through the fresh round of pain. “These are your choices. I go out and take it on alone, which I know ain’t gonna fly with you.” He grinned when Sam glared at him. “Or we wait until your leg’s better and go together. Your choice, because you are not comin’ out in those woods with me like this.”

“Dammit,” Sam groaned and shook his head, closing his eyes. “Alright. You’re right. I don’t like it, but you are.”

“Damn right, I’m right.” Dean grinned again. “Now would you calm down and go to sleep? You’re makin’ me tired lookin’ at you.” He smiled at Sam’s half-hearted glower and stayed where he was while his brother’s eyes closed and the drugs helped Sam drift off to sleep. “Stubborn pain in my ass, Sammy,” Dean whispered and finally allowed himself that deep breath of relief he hadn’t since the moment Sam had fallen in the forest with the creature breathing down their necks. He resettled the heat packs on Sam’s leg, and when he was sure Sam was good and asleep, he rose and settled onto his own bed.

“Don’t you scare me like that again, kiddo,” Dean said softly and leaned back with the remote and the Wild Kindgom crocodile special, ready to switch over to Casa Erotica to irritate Sam the moment he woke. Dean grinned.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** LotRia


	30. For LotRia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LotRia - Preferred season would be one or two. Still stuck on the human monster; so the boys stumble upon a stereotypical evil-worshipping cult -- hooded robes, candles, sacrificial alter, cannibalism, etc... you know, all the fun stuff, lol. With kidnapped/drugged/hurt Sammy and protective big brother to the rescue. It's me, so dark and scary please. I'd like to have nightmares for a few weeks from this one :-)
> 
> A/N: Oh how I love getting to your prompt every time. You let me be twisted. *huggles your prompt* post 2x05 “Simon Said” thanks Xe for the suggestion. I couldn’t decide where to put this one. Lol

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There were only so many ways a job could go wrong and Dean figured they had found them all in the last few days. He glanced over at Sam as they drove and saw the same, brooding expression that had been there for days still in place ever since Andy and his brother, since Sam had found yet another special child who had gone dark side. Dean was running out of ways to reassure Sam that the same wasn’t going to happen to him. He needed Sam to have faith in him and in himself, a faith made all the harder by the truthful confession that Andy had forced out of him about his own growing doubts and fears. The job they were on wasn’t helping either. Seven people were dead; what was left of their bodies had come close to making the both of them lose their lunches with limbs missing, chests cracked open, and a couple of them even flayed, their skin having been carefully peeled from their bodies in what must have been an agonizing death.

“We’ll figure this one out, Sammy,” Dean said surely.

“Before someone else dies?” Sam sighed and shook his head. “No, I know. Not our fault.” He managed a small smile. “I just hate not knowing what’s doing the killing.”

“We’ll figure it out and I’m gonna enjoy ganking whatever it is.” Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel reflexively. Sam’s research skills had netted them nothing so far on what creature was doing the killing, and he knew his little brother’s pride was dented. “Maybe we’ll get lucky at this occult store of yours.”

“Three of the victims had been there less than a week before they died.” Sam watched the buildings go by out the window and hoped. “It’s our best lead.”

“It’s our only damn lead at this point,” Dean said angrily. He was just as frustrated by the lack of progress. “If this comes up a dead end, I’ll call Bobby. See if he can turn up something useful.”

Sam nodded and focused on the occult store front when it came into view. “Wish I had his books with us right now.”

Dean snorted. “We’d need three cars. Here we go.” He parked outside the store and got out with Sam. He looked up at the black painted store front and shook his head. “Why do these places always look like they fell out of a bad slasher flick?”

“No imagination.” Sam chuckled and crossed the sidewalk. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. A bell on the other side of the store jingled loudly, and Sam saw a man at the counter jerk his head up to stare wide-eyed at him. Sam walked over with a smile and Dean at his back. He tugged on his suit tie and pulled his FBI badge from his pocket. “Hi. I’m Agent Sam Rollings and this is my partner, Agent Dean Ford. We need to speak with the manager.”

“Agents. You’re a fed?” The young man with a curly mop of blonde hair looked curiously up at Sam and then cleared his throat. “Uh, right. Yeah. Just let me get him.”

Dean watched the man vanish into the back of the store and frowned. “I don’t think I like him. My spidey-senses are tingling.” He brushed a hand down the front of his suit jacket and eyed the store around them. “You see the way he looked at you when we came in?”

“Pretty sure that’s because I’m like two feet taller, dude.” Sam chuckled and shook his head. The store was packed with occult paraphernalia. There were shelves of jars of herbs, some disturbing preserved pieces of various animals, symbols and amulets, incense, tapestries with a bizarre mish-mash of symbols that made Sam roll his eyes. “This place isn’t for real. Look at that devil’s trap over there.”

Dean followed Sam’s finger to a tapestry hanging on the back wall and laughed. Two of the symbols that should have been present had been exchanged for what looked like Norse runes. “Only thing they’re gonna catch with that is dust.”

“Can I help you?”

Sam turned back to find a tall man with dark hair and keen brown eyes had emerged from the back. “Yes, hello. We’re investigating some murders and we need access to your records.”

“Some of our dead guys came through your shop before they died.” Dean smiled and shrugged. “Just tickin’ off a few boxes. Making sure nothin’ hinkey’s going on around here.”

“Well, I value my customers’ privacy. I’m David Malcolm.” David gave them a tight smile. “I’m afraid you’ll need a warrant to see my records.”

Dean’s face darkened and he leaned slightly on the counter to loom over the man. “Look, pal. You want us to get a warrant, we could do that. But in the meantime, we’ll drag your ass downtown as a possible accessory, plaster your name all over the local news media, and see just how much the neighborhood likes having a potential murderer runnin’ a business here.” He smiled at the angry, shocked look on David’s face. “Or you can just let us check out the names on our list and we’ll be out of your hair. Your choice.”

Sam smiled and picked up his role of good cop. “We just need a quick look at the records and no one needs to be dragged anywhere. Please.”

David blew out a breath and nodded grudgingly. “Fine. Just… fine. I’ll get them.”

Sam watched him walk away muttering about annoying federal agents and quirked a brow at his brother. “And what exactly were you gonna do if he called your bluff, dumbass?”

“Please. He was about to wet his panties.” Dean grinned. “No problem.”

Sam shook his head with a soft laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Your face is ridiculous,” Dean shot back and slapped his brother’s cast to get his attention when David reappeared from the back with a box. “Find everything?”

“Yes,” David said and glared at Dean. He passed a curious glance over Sam and slid the box onto the counter. “I’ll leave you to look through this. I assume you know who you’re looking for. Ring the bell if you need me.”

Dean watched David walk away again and felt a shiver of unease run down his spine with the last glance the man sent at Sam. He watched his little brother already digging into the box and frowned. “I really don’t like this place. These guys are some kinda screwy.”

Sam nodded absently as he sifted through the receipts. “Got one here.” He plucked one out and gave it to Dean. “That’s the third victim, and here, this is the second.”

“So there’s definitely something about this place.” Dean took each slip of paper Sam handed him and looked back to the door David had gone through. “He knows somethin’.”

“Well, he’s not going to tell us.” Sam straightened and closed the box. “That’s all but one of the victims. So… stake him out tonight?”

“Yep. Come on.” Dean pulled Sam and nudged him toward the door. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam leaned back in his chair to stretch his back out and kept his casted arm against his chest, trying to ignore the persistent ache. Stupid zombie chick. “What time is it?”

“’Bout five minutes after the last time you asked me,” Dean said and smirked over at his brother’s dirty look. “Still not late enough to go watch the store. Hours on the door said they didn’t close ‘til midnight.” Dean shrugged. “It’s only ten-thirty. We’ll go in an hour.”

“Awesome.” Sam stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’m gonna take a walk.”

“You’re always cranky with a broken bone.” Dean chuckled and grabbed his own jacket. “I’ll come with ya.”

“I don’t need a babysitter for a walk,” Sam protested.

Dean rolled his eyes. “There’s a bar two blocks down. I have an ulterior motive.”

Sam laughed and opened the room door. “I’m a little surprised you even know the word ulterior.”

“Shut up, bitch. I read.”

“Yeah, books with pictures don’t count, jer…” Sam gasped as the door was kicked out of his hand and into his chest. It threw him back into his brother and Dean went down hard beneath his weight. Sam saw dark shapes in the door as the room light went out, felt several small, stabbing pains in his chest, and could only groan as his head swam and he tumbled into unconsciousness with his brother’s angry voice in his ears.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean woke with a jerk and a gasp and felt hands holding him down. He shouted and tried to throw their hands off, remembering only dark figures attacking him and Sam. “Get off me!”

“Sir! Please calm down!”

Dean threw out a fist and felt it connect with someone’s body. He opened his eyes, blinking them into focus against the bright light as new hands took hold of him and held him down and the surprise made him go still. “What? Where the hell am I?” He fixed a man in a white coat with a steady glare as he came closer, and Dean saw the beginning of a black eye on him from his own fist.

“Mr. Carter, you’re in the hospital. You were attacked in your room.” The doctor spoke slowly and evenly, hoping to keep the man calm. “Housekeeping saw the attack and called the police and you were brought here when they realized you’d been drugged. Do you remember any of this?”

Dean stopped his struggles and nodded as fear washed through him. “Sammy. Where’s my brother? Le’me see him!”

“Mr. Carter, you’re the only one they brought in. I’m sorry.” The doctor waved off the orderlies now that his patient was aware and calmer. “The officer I spoke to said the housekeeper saw your attackers carry someone into a van before they drove off.”

Dean lunged up in the bed so he was sitting and threw a leg off the side of the bed. “Gotta find him.” He swayed sideways when his head swam and slapped a hand out to steady himself.

“You need to stay down, sir.” The doctor took Dean’s arm and tried to push him back to no avail. “The drug isn’t completely out of your system yet.”

“Don’ care.” Dean shook his head and slid his other leg from the bed. “You bring me whatever the hell I need to sign. I gotta find Sam. Now.” He knew who had his brother. Dean wasn’t sure how, but he was positive the owner of the occult shop had something to do with it. The way the man and his clerk had stared at Sam had set off warning bells for him, and they were screaming now.

The doctor sighed and nodded, knowing a patient who wasn’t going to listen when he saw one. “Alright. Just stay here and sit until I come back with the AMA papers. Please. And try not to tear out your IV. Let a nurse handle that. Stay.”

Dean snorted disgustedly as the doctor left and looked down. He hadn’t even felt the line going into his left wrist until the doctor pointed it out. “Gonna kill that son of a bitch when I get my hands on him,” Dean promised himself darkly and started peeling away the tape holding the IV in place.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam stared up at the ceiling above him and tried to catch his breath through the fresh waves of pain. His head was swimming and he tried to make his wavering vision focus. “Why… why’re you doing this?”

“You’re marked.” David bent over Sam and smiled down at him. “The moment you walked into my shop, the warding bells told us you were marked by darkness.” He studied Sam’s eyes and frowned. “Brother Peter, I think he needs another dose. He looks a little too aware for my tastes. I don’t want him trying to escape his bonds.”

“No. Don’t,” Sam protested as another man appeared with a syringe. Inwardly he was reeling. His tainted blood had put him in this position and guilt flowed like a sick tide through him. He tried to jerk his arm away, but it was held fast and the needle plunged into the inside of his elbow. “No more, please.” His chest burned with agony from the cuts David had already made, from the deep furrows he had gouged with the knife Sam was growing to hate the sight of.

“You should be proud. Your flesh will nourish us.” David pulled the hood of his black robe back as he leaned over Sam’s bloody chest again. He held the knife so it glinted in the light from the many candles lit around the small room.

“You’re sick.” Sam glared up at the man and tried not to flinch as the knife came to rest coldly on his chest. “What… what do you think you’re doing? Wha…” his head dropped back to the table with a thump as the drug worked through him quickly. “You… cannibals?”

“The flesh of those touched by darkness nourishes the darkness within ourselves,” David said with a fervent light in his eyes. He ran a finger through the blood pooled on Sam’s chest and put it in his mouth, sucking it clean of every last drop with a moan of pleasure. “Our power will grow through you, because of you.”

“Oh, God.” Sam groaned and closed his eyes while the room swam dizzily around him. He jerked when he felt the knife cut into his chest again. He strained his head back, clenching his teeth around the cry choking him as the knife pulled down through his skin. “S… stop!”

David made careful cuts down Sam’s chest and then along the left side of his ribs. “The pain is part of your gift to us, Sam.” He slid the blade of the knife under a piece of skin and took careful hold of it. “Our dark lord thanks you for your flesh.”

Sam screamed as David pulled and tore a flap of skin from his chest. He gasped for breath through the burning agony and fought the urge to throw up when David held it out in front of his eyes. He rolled his head away as one of David’s faithful appeared with a silver platter.

David laid the strip of skin out carefully on the silver and then sucked his fingers clean again. “Begin the incantation, brothers.”

Sam fought to catch his breath while voices rose up around him in a low chant. His head was swimming sickly from whatever drug they’d given him, and he felt the bile rising up his throat. The knife cut into him again and Sam turned his head as his stomach spewed out of his mouth, onto the table and over to the floor.

“Shh. Shh.” David carded his fingers back through Sam’s sweaty hair in a mockery of tenderness. “Don’t fight the drug and this will be a lot easier on you. Just let yourself go, Sam.”

Sam coughed and spit, choking on a sob. “Stop. Stop. God… jus’… stop.”

David released Sam’s hair and went back to his chest. “We’ll have all your skin soon, and then we’ll start on the muscle.” He leaned back and smiled for Sam’s rolling eyes. “That’s the tastiest part, you know.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself. He screamed as more strips of his skin were torn from his body, all to the rhythmic chant of David’s ‘faithful’. The smell of some vile incense was heavy in the air and not helping as he fought to keep from throwing up again. His stomach was rolling as hard as his head, and tears tracked down the sides of his face as the pain continued. He sobbed in a desperate breath when he felt David start slicing into his left arm.

“Our dark lord needs the sacrifice to be alive and aware,” David said softly as he tore a small strip of skin from Sam’s forearm and set it on the tray held out for him. “You’ll feel it when I touch your heart, Sam.”

Sam shook his head and wished his body would obey him. Whatever drug they were giving him left his body feeling weighted and heavy, so much so he could barely move in spite of the pain. It also seemed to be stopping him from passing out into blissful unconsciousness, keeping him just alert enough to feel every moment of agony being inflicted upon him. “N’more… no… no more.”

“Brother Joseph.” David waved a blood-covered hand over Sam’s legs. “Cut his jeans off and start on his legs.”

“God!” Sam shuddered and felt hands touching his legs and then the bite of a blade as it sliced up through the denim.

“Do you know how good you taste, Sam?” David braced Sam’s face with one bloody hand and painted Sam’s lips with his own blood. “We’re going to eat so well from you.”

Sam could only watch the bleary vision of David licking his blood from his fingers again. He rolled his eyes away and tried not to feel the cold air hitting his legs as his jeans were pulled from him in pieces. A second knife began slicing into his leg down his thigh while David worked on his arm, and he threw his head back in desperation. “DEAN!” Sam screamed his brother’s name while two strips of flesh were torn from him. He knew it was hopeless and there was no way Dean could hear him. Hell, he didn’t even know if these freaks had left Dean alive, and that thought was a whole different kind of pain, but the physical agony was near unbearable and the drug forced him to be aware of it and he couldn’t help himself. Dean was always the one he cried out for when hurt or scared for as long as he could remember, and his brother had never let him down yet.

“Your partner can’t help you, Sam,” David told him cheerfully. “We’ll have to move on once we’ve finished with you of course. Consuming a federal agent will bring too much attention, but we couldn’t just let you walk away.” He trailed his fingers over Sam’s bloody, ruined chest and grinned. “You came to my shop for a reason. Our dark lord wanted us to have you.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean crouched low along the wall of the old house and moved silently, hugging the wall to hide from the moonlight filtering down through the clouds. He had made his escape from the hospital and gone straight to the occult shop. The man who had been closing for the night had eventually been more than happy to tell Dean where to find his brother, and Dean honestly didn’t give a damn right then if he told the cops who had beaten him within an inch of his life or not.

The clerk had kept his mouth shut for all of five minutes before Dean had broken his third finger. After that, he had talked long and loud and told Dean enough to curdle his blood with fear for his brother. “Friggin’ cannibal nutjobs,” he grumbled under his breath and reached the back of the house. It was an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors close enough to hear anything, and Dean flinched as he heard his brother’s voice raised in a cry of pain yet again. He checked his watch and cursed softly. A quick call to Bobby had been enough to get the older hunter on his way, but it would still be near an hour before he could arrive to back Dean up.

“Hang on, Sammy,” Dean whispered and scrubbed his hand over his face after another pain-filled scream. It was killing him having to listen to his brother suffer. Sam wasn’t typically a screamer, so for him to be making those sounds… he didn’t want to imagine what they must be doing to him, but he couldn’t stop himself. Bobby had made him swear to wait until he arrived before going in. According to Dean’s source, there were at least eight men down there with Sam. He needed the backup. Yet as Sam’s voice filtered out of the house again, this time in a desperate scream of his brother’s name, Dean knew he couldn’t wait any longer. There was no way he could listen to Sam calling out for him in that much pain and not respond. It was not even an option.

Dean ran up the steps of the back porch with his gun drawn and pulled it open, thankful it wasn’t locked. Obviously, they weren’t expecting anyone to crash their twisted little party. Sam’s voice yelled again and this time thundered in Dean’s ears now that he was inside. He followed that and the sound of voices chanting Latin down the hall through the kitchen. Dean turned into a door and stared in shock. His little brother was tied down to a long table, naked but for his boxer briefs and covered in his own blood. As he watched, horrified, David, the occult store owner in a black robe, tore a strip of skin from Sam’s stomach and laid it on a silver tray.

Rage rose up to choke Dean and he brought up his gun. “HEY!” Dean shouted and fired, shooting the first of the men to rush him in the shoulder. He took aim at the second and grunted in surprise as he was tackled from behind.

“Hold him!” David bellowed above the sudden clamor of voices. He set his knife down and rushed to help his brothers hold the enraged man until finally they had Sam’s fellow agent buried beneath a press of bodies. “Get the needle!”

Dean heaved up, trying to dislodge the men holding him and snarled angrily when it didn’t work. “Get off me you sick sons of bitches! Sammy!” He realized the depth of his mistake coming in early as they held him down so tightly he had trouble catching his breath, knew that he should have waited for backup… for Bobby. But there was no way he could simply listen to his little brother screaming for him and not do something. He wasn’t wired that way. But now things were worse, and he could only hope Bobby would be able to bail them both out of this mess when he arrived and not end up in the same position Dean found himself in.

“Give me his arm,” David ordered and took the syringe when it was brought over.

“No… dammit, no!” Dean shouted and tried to jerk his arm free of their grip, but there were too many and they were too determined. He felt the bite of a needle sliding into his arm, and a moment later Dean slumped beneath the hands holding him while his head began to swim and the room spun dizzyingly around him. The weight pressing him down finally eased and he felt himself being lifted. Dean opened his eyes and tried to struggle as they sat him up against the wall, but his body wasn’t listening to him any longer. He could see Sam through the men around him, tied to the table and chest heaving. He glared death when David kneeled down in front of him to meet his eyes.

“You partner has been touched by darkness, agent,” David said with a smile. He patted Dean’s knee and held up his blood-stained hands for the man to see. “We still have a lot of work to do. You can watch but you won’t be interfering, and I’m sorry to say you won’t be leaving again after this. We just can’t take the risk. We let you live at the hotel. You should not have come here. Now, get comfortable.”

“N… no,” Dean managed to ground out between his teeth and could barely twitch his arms in a bid to move. He watched as the men circled his brother once more and began chanting as David walked back to Sam and picked up a bloody knife from his chest. “No!” He watched David lay the knife against his brother’s chest and heard Sam’s pained gasp. “You… you touch him… ‘gain an’… I will r-rip your… your fuckin’ head off!”

“His flesh will nourish us,” David told the agent with a smile and worked at slicing another careful strip of flesh and smiled more broadly at Sam’s choked scream. “His darkness will grow within us.”

“You sick… sick bastard. Stop!” Dean fought for air around his rage as Sam’s cries filled the room over the chanting again.

“Dean!” Sam sobbed weakly, his voice desperate and bordering on delirious. He thrashed his head weakly on the table through the agony and would have sworn he could hear his brother’s voice. “God! Dean!”

“Sammy!” Dean’s heart was pounding out of his chest with his need to save his brother as David held up a strip of skin, glistening in the firelight and showed it to him. “Bastard!”

“Eat of my flesh,” David said softly. He met Dean’s enraged eyes and brought Sam’s skin to his mouth. He sucked it in obscenely like a string of spaghetti and began chewing. He closed his eyes and moaned with pleasure while Sam’s warm blood ran down his chin.

Dean swallowed hard against the urge to vomit as the bastard actually ate a piece of his brother. “Gonna kill you,” Dean promised darkly while his limbs twitched helplessly. A single tear escaped unbidden to roll down his face as his brother suffered and called out for him. Whatever they had given him, Sam obviously wasn’t fully aware, at least not enough to realize that Dean was actually there, although it clearly was doing nothing to dull the pain.

“Drink of my blood.” David slid his eyes from Dean’s and motioned to his followers. They each stepped up to the table and, as one, bent over Sam’s bloody body.

Sam cried out as he felt mouths on the open wounds along his chest, arms and legs. He could feel tongues digging into his exposed muscle, throats working against his body as they sucked his blood from him and swallowed. He was being eaten alive. “NO!” The horror of it made him cold and he shuddered, shaking enough to knock his teeth together. “S… stop! Dean, please!”

Dean struggled against the drug keeping him immobile as he watched the horror playing out before him. The faithful leaned back from Sam’s body at last with his little brother’s blood painting their faces. They stepped away and began the chant again while David ran his hands up and down Sam’s body, his arms, his legs, trailing through the blood and open wounds like he was worshipping it. “Get off him!”

Gunshots rang through the air suddenly and Dean watched three of David’s robed friends drop to the floor and lay still. A fourth and then a fifth followed, and the last few ran for the door as the window blew into the room in a shower of glass barely contained by the heavy, dark curtains at its sides.

“Dean?”

Bobby’s voice through the shattered window made Dean choke on a sob of relief. “Bobby,” he called hoarsely and saw the older hunter climbing through the window. “Sammy.”

“You alright son?” Bobby studied Dean on the floor, saw his arms and legs twitching and guessed that they’d drugged him again. He turned his attention to Sam and swallowed hard around the need to throw up at the sight. “Aw, son.” Bobby reached out and rested a hand in Sam’s dark, sweaty hair; stilling his head. “Sam. You hear me?”

“Bobby, ge’me up.” Dean’s arms and legs still felt leaden, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get to his brother. “Bobby, please.”

“Knew you wouldn’t wait for me to get here,” Bobby said as he reluctantly left Sam to go to Dean instead. He knelt down and pulled one of Dean’s arms over his shoulders. “I outraced two state troopers on the way here, you idjit,” he said fondly and grunted with the effort of lugging Dean to his feet. “Put a call in to a friend of mine while I was at it. S’got an old decommissioned ambulance. He’s on his way and we’ll get Sam and you outta here.”

“Sammy.” Dean let Bobby lean him on the table near his brother’s head, supporting him and slowly managed to convince his free hand to come up and rest on Sam’s blood-spattered neck. “Sammy, I’m here. Come on, buddy. See me. I’m right here.”

Sam rolled his head over and blinked furiously until finally, his big brother’s suspiciously moist green eyes came into focus and a sob caught in his throat. “Dean!”

“Right here, buddy. Bobby too. We gotcha. Just… gonna get you outta this. Bobby?” Dean turned his head sluggishly and found the older man watching them both with damp eyes.

“Yeah. You stand up long enough on your own for me to untie him?” Bobby took Dean at his word when he nodded and stepped back cautiously. Pure stubborn force of will kept the elder Winchester on his feet and Bobby went to Sam’s feet to work on the knots securing his ankles. “Sorry I missed a couple of the bastards,” he growled angrily, taking in the flayed wounds on the young man’s legs.

“Dean.” Sam coughed and rolled his head gratefully into the hand Dean rested in his hair. “Get… get me… out of…”

“Shh, I know, Sammy. I know. We’re workin’ on it.” Dean reassured his little brother and the fear still in his eyes. “Bobby said he’s got a friend coming.”

“Charlie,” Bobby piped up and came up to the head of the table to start on Sam’s wrists. “We’ll get you loaded in the ambulance and then Charlie’ll tell us if we need to come up with a cover story for a hospital or not.”

“Or not?” Dean asked in surprise and nodded angrily down. “Look at him! He’s tore to pieces! Besides, the cops already know he was taken, and they know about the others who have been killed by these bastards. He’s going to the hospital!”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Bobby sighed and pulled Sam’s now free arm gently down to his side. “Guess I was just hopin’ this ain’t as bad as I think it is.” He grimaced as Sam’s blood coated his fingers and curbed the sudden urge to go hunt the last remaining members of the coven and kill them too. He hadn’t even flinched when he’d seen what was happening through the window. Every shot had been aimed with deadly intent. No one screwed with his boys; not like this. “You’re gonna be alright, Sam.”

Dean slumped over his brother’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “This drug sucks.”

“How much they get you with?” Bobby asked in concern.

Dean shook his head. “Enough, but… can still kinda move. S’better than Sam anyway.”

“Good.” Bobby untied Sam’s other hand and left it there with Dean leaning over him. “You stay with him. I’m gonna go make sure none o’ the faithful sons of bitches are still around.”

Dean nodded and managed to steady his legs a little better beneath him. “How you doin’, Sammy?”

“Mmm… better.” Sam frowned and felt his fingers finally moving with his orders. As much as he wanted to move and get off the table, he was afraid to move at all and risk making the already agonizing pain even worse. It was like waves of fire pouring through him, the drug still making sure that he couldn’t pass out and escape the pain. “More… more or less.”

Dean’s laugh was a soft, brittle thing. “Dude, you look like Leatherface’s patchwork quilt.” Dean knew Sam would probably carry those scars for the rest of his life but he was alright with that, so long as he knew Sam was going to be ok. He rubbed his fingers through Sam’s hair to give him something to focus on other than the pain and blew out a breath. “They say why they grabbed you?” Dean asked carefully, not giving away that he already knew, wanting to know how much psychological damage may have been done in addition to the physical trauma.

Sam’s breath stopped for a moment as he looked up at his brother and he closed his eyes. He gave a small shake of his head. “No.” He couldn’t tell Dean that they’d taken him because they thought his blood was evil, his very being. How could he explain what he already suspected every day… that he was cursed with the same darkness that had killed their mother and Jess? “Just… crazy stuff. Ranting.”

“Ok. Don’t worry about it.” Dean looked up, relieved as lights flashed across the room. “Think Bobby’s friend is here. Have you outta here in no time.”

Sam nodded miserably and swallowed around the lump of emotion in his throat. “Dean,” he said and opened his eyes again. “Thank you.”

Dean managed a relieved smile for Sam and squeezed his shoulder as Sam’s eyes closed again. “Savin’ your ass is what I do, little brother. Always.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** judyann


	31. For judyann

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For judyann - Definitely weechester just love them younger. OK maybe first time Sammy gets hurt by bullies and how Dean handles it.
> 
> A/N: I think we’ll go with Sam 10 and Dean 14. :D and Sam dealing with his first round of real bullies.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam peered out in the hall from the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief. It looked clear. School was out and he only needed to make it outside and to his brother. He sighed and stepped into the hall. Jimmy Rooker and his three buddies had been making Sam’s life hell for weeks, and it was all he could do to hide the bruises from Dean and his father, but especially from Dean. Sam didn’t trust his big brother not to try something stupid if he knew his little brother was being beat up every day. He wanted to handle it himself. After all, Dad was training him to fight. It was just that Sam was so small still. He was short for a ten year old, a fact Dean constantly reminded him of and Sam hated. Some day he was going to get taller than his big brother just to make him eat his words. He shuffled quickly down the hall toward the doors and began to smile. Today he was going to get out without new bruises. He picked up his pace, jogging for the wide, double doors at the end of the hall and was unprepared for the arm that shot out of the door beside him. It took Sam in the throat and he was thrown to the floor, unable to even gasp as the air was knocked out of him.

“Little Sammy Winchester. Leavin’ for the weekend without sayin’ goodbye?” Jimmy Rooker stepped out into the hall and grinned down at Sam while his friends came out behind him. “What’s’a matter, midget? Can’t breathe?”

Sam rolled to his side and wheezed in a breath. He pulled his knees under him and tried to keep the boys in his sight as they spread around him. “Ji… Jimmy. My… m’brother…”

“Ain’t here, short stuff.” Jimmy reached down and pulled Sam up by his collar. He held him there and grinned down at him. “You’re on your own, like always.”

Sam shook his head and tried to twist free with no luck. “S-stop.” He kicked out with one foot and caught Jimmy in the side of the knee but not hard enough to take him down; he couldn’t get the right leverage from his position for that. It was a mistake.

“You little shit!” Jimmy snarled as he staggered and righted himself. “That’s gonna cost ya. Come on.” He threw Sam through the open classroom door by his neck and watched him slam into an empty desk before falling to the floor. “Let’s make it hurt, guys.”

Sam gasped and tried to get his legs under him again. He could hear the boys coming in behind him and felt tears on his cheeks. They were really going to make him hurt this time. All he wanted was his big brother. Dean sometimes made him feel smothered with his constant supervision, but there were days when Sam would gladly hide in his big brother’s arms from the world. For Sam, Dean was safety, protection, comfort, and love wrapped up in a leather jacket, and Sam desperately wished he was there. He grunted as a foot connected with his stomach and rolled him away from the desk.

“Gonna make you sorry you kicked me.” Jimmy leaned down and grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair, using it to pull him across the floor into a more open space. “Not so brave now, are ya’?”

Sam’s stomach rolled with fear as a fist connected with his gut. While they had pushed him around and left bruises, they had never before hit him with such anger. It wasn’t like when dad had him and Dean spar, where they pulled their punches. These were meant to hurt, and Sam curled in on himself as he gagged and tears rolled down his cheeks. “S-stop! Please!”

“Whiny little brat!” Jimmy kicked Sam’s hip and then waved his friends off as he looked down at the boy. Sam’s lip was split and bleeding, and he could see an impressive black eye beginning to form. The smallest niggle of guilt began to churn in his stomach as the kid sobbed and gagged on the floor. “Aw, you ain’t worth it. Little shit. Come on. Let’s go find somethin’ fun to do. See ya’ round, Sam.”

Sam heard them leaving, heard the shuffle of Jimmy’s heavy boots and curled more tightly into himself until they were gone and it was quiet. He wiped a shaking hand over his face and his eyes widened when he saw the blood from his split lip. He sniffed and slowly sat up and looked around. The classroom was empty and the boys gone, and Sam wished he could melt away under the floor and never come out.

He picked himself up stiffly from the floor and hunched over the nearest desk for a moment, trying to ease the ache in his stomach. Sam sniffled his tears back again and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Want Dean,” he mumbled softly, miserably, and shuffled to the door. The hall was empty of the bullies, and Sam bent with a whimper of pain and picked up his fallen backpack. He carried it by the strap, letting it drag along the floor, and headed for the doors. There would be no hiding today from his brother and he no longer wanted to.

Sam stepped outside onto the school steps, looked up and saw Dean waiting at the gate in the fence on the sidewalk. It made his heart clench with a very childish need to be held and he started into an unsteady jog.

Dean watched his little brother come out of the school and knew instantly that something was wrong. The way Sam was holding himself screamed ‘wrong’ at him, and he frowned as his little brother started into a slow, stumbling run, dragging his backpack behind him on the ground. “Sammy?” Dean called and ran inside the gate with worry in the pit of his stomach. As Sam drew closer, Dean saw blood on his face and his world did a crazy spin of fear and rage. “Sammy!” He grabbed up his little brother before Sam could stop and pulled him in as he went to his knees in front of him. “What the hell happened?”

“Dean.”

Dean rocked backward as he suddenly had an armful of sobbing little brother, and Sam threw his arms around his neck and held on painfully tight. “Whoa. Whoa. Hey. It’s ok, Sammy. I’m here. I got you. It’s ok.” He rubbed a hand up and down his brother’s shaking back and carded the fingers of the other back through Sam’s shaggy hair and held his head to him. “Sammy, it’s ok. You’re ok. Can you talk to me? Did you fall?”

Sam shook his head, not caring as his split lip pulled against his brother’s flannel shirt. “Jimmy. H-he… they… hurts, Dean.”

A wave of anger blew through Dean at his brother’s words. He didn’t need to hear anymore to understand that his baby brother had been bullied and hurt by kids bigger and older than he was. He curbed the need to get up and stalk into the school to find them. There were more important things, like the little boy currently sobbing into his neck and holding onto him like he was going to choke the life out of him. “Come on, buddy. Ease up, huh?” Dean pulled his brother’s head up and got a look at his face. The bleeding lip and puffy eye made him want to snarl with rage, but he kept it in and smiled softly instead. “Hey, how about we get you home and clean you up, ok?”

Sam nodded and ducked his head back into his big brother’s neck. “Up.”

Dean snorted and wrapped his arms around Sam. He grabbed up the backpack too and stood, grunting with the effort of getting to his feet with Sam attached to him. He’d never admit how much he enjoyed having Sam in his arms like he was tiny again. His little brother had been becoming more and more independent as he got older, and Dean had begun to miss the little guy who would hold onto him without a care. He just wished it hadn’t taken bullies to get Sam to do it again. “I gotcha, Sammy.”

“M’sorry,” Sam muttered into Dean’s neck miserably.

“What for?” Dean asked as he turned them toward home, glad that they were only a few blocks away.

“Gettin’ blood on your shirt.”

Sam’s voice was muffled in his neck and Dean was glad he couldn’t see the glare that crossed his face. “Not your fault, little dude.” Dean rubbed a hand over his back comfortingly and hitched him a little higher in his arms. Sam showed no signs of wanting to walk on his own, and Dean was perfectly happy to carry him, heavy as the ten-year-old was.

Sam hid himself in his brother’s shoulder the whole walk home. He felt a little ridiculous being carried around like a little kid, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. They had scared and hurt him so much; all he wanted was for Dean to make it better. “Couldn’t fight ‘em, Dean. They were too big.”

“Hey. Don’t you worry about it,” Dean reassured his brother and smiled when the ramshackle little house they were living in came into view. “You’re not supposed to have to fight the big kids, dude. They’re supposed to leave you alone, and you can bet your ass I’m gonna remind ‘em of that first chance I get.” He turned up the cracked sidewalk to their house and was grateful their father was still out on his hunt. He didn’t want to have to deal with Dad’s anger in addition to his own while trying to console his little brother. Dad meant well but he had a tendency to go drill sergeant about things like this, and Sam didn’t need that right now.

Dean carried his brother up the two, tilted steps and managed to dig his keys out of his pocket without losing his grip on his brother. He kicked open the door and stepped inside, kicked it shut and carried Sam into the kitchen. “Ok. Down you go.” He set Sam on the kitchen counter where he could get a good look at him and smiled. “How you feelin’?” he asked as he used a thumb to wipe some of the drying blood from Sam’s chin.

Sam sniffed and shrugged. “Ok.”

“Gonna get the first aid kit. Stay put.” Dean patted his leg and dashed into the bathroom, not wanting to leave Sam alone for too long. He dragged the big first-aid kit out from under the sink and ran back to find Sam where he’d left him on the counter, though his brother had his arms wrapped around his middle. “Hey. They hurt you anywhere else?”

Sam nodded, not raising his eyes. “They, uh… they kicked me.” He twitched his arms a little to let Dean know where and hunched over himself.

“Aw, buddy. Ok. Le’me see.” Dean gently moved Sam’s hands out of the way and eased his jacket off. He took the hem of his brother’s tee-shirt and carefully pulled it up and off over his head. It was spotted with blood from his split lip and Dean figured the shirt was toast. He looked down and ground his teeth together. There was the clear mark of a boot print beginning to bruise up along his little brother’s ribs. “Gotta make sure nothin’s broke, ok?” He waited for Sam’s miserable nod and put his fingers to his brother’s chest.

“Cold hands, Dean!” Sam protested and tried to twist away but stopped when it sent fresh pain through his chest. “Ow.”

“Shh. It’s ok. Sorry. Just hang on a minute.” Dean pressed as gently as he could around the bruise and smiled to find nothing broken. “Ok; think you’re good, Sammy. Just bruised. Now let me see this face of yours.” He took Sam’s chin and tilted his head up into the light. “Hey, think they made you prettier.”

“Shuddup, Dean.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned into Dean’s touch, still needing the comfort only his big brother could give him. “Hurts.”

“I know.” Dean set about cleaning his brother’s split lip and smiled as Sam sat as stoically as possible through the process. Internally, he was raging that anyone could hurt his little brother like this. Sam was such a shy, quiet kid and so damn small for his age. Dean ground his teeth together again but kept his smile in place for Sam.

“M’gonna have a scar?” Sam asked with big, wide eyes as he watched Dean’s face.

“Naw. This’ll heal into nothin’. Promise.” Dean dabbed ointment onto the cut and leaned back. “What do ya’ say we watch a movie and order Chinese? Can get ya’ some of that soup you like. That’ll be easy to eat with this.”

Sam nodded and smiled. “Yeah.” He scowled. “What movie?”

Dean chuckled and cleaned up the first aid kit before shoving it aside. “Die Hard?” He popped open the freezer and tugged the bag of frozen peas out.

Sam’s scowl turned into a smile and he hopped down off the counter with Dean’s hand on his shoulders. “Kay.” He looked up at Dean and grinned. “You’re kinda like McClain.”

Dean’s heart swelled in his chest as he guided Sam into the living room. Every time he thought it wasn’t possible to love the kid more, he said something like that. “I’m cooler than McClain.” He ruffled Sam’s hair. “He doesn’t have a pain in the ass little brother.”

Sam climbed onto the couch and got comfy in the corner. He took the peas Dean handed him and set them over his eye.

“Hold up. Here.” Dean grabbed a rag off the table and handed it to his brother. “Wrap ‘em in that or your face’ll hurt.”

“’Kay.” Sam wrapped the peas in the rag while Dean put the movie in. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, squirt?” Dean started the movie and then went to sit beside his brother. He smiled fondly when Sam snuggled into his side with the peas held over his eye.

“How come they hurt me like that?” Sam asked sincerely. “Z’there somethin’ wrong with me?”

“Sammy, there ain’t a damn thing wrong with you. Not nothin’.” Dean wrapped his arm around Sam as the opening credits began and pulled him in. “Those assholes are the ones with somethin’ wrong with ‘em. Some people are just mean and nasty and like to hurt other people because they think it’s fun.”

Sam huddled against his brother with his peas and knew he was right; Dean was as cool as McClain. Actually, his big brother was even cooler, and Sam was gonna be like him some day. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Takin’ care of you’s my job, Sammy.” Dean settled back and let Sam lean against his chest. “I love my job.” And the next day he was going to find this Jimmy and his buddies and show them a little McClain justice, Winchester style.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** hunter-ofthe-lord


	32. For Hunter-ofthe-Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For hunter-ofthe-lord - So, the first thing that came to my mind is Season Two. I also really like 2-3 word prompts, so here's a nice challenge for you to undergo: "Sudden Darkness". Do with it what you will, just have fun
> 
> A/N: I’ll skip the obvious making one or both of the boys blind and go with something a little more literal. :P Damn I love researching creatures. This one is set, as requested, in season 2. After 2x03 ‘Bloodlust’.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean watched his brother and rolled his eyes as Sam pulled over yet another dusty old book from the pile he’d accumulated. “Hey, Sammy. You know libraries like it when you leave the books on the shelves.”

“It’s Sam and shuddup.” Sam flipped his middle finger absently at his brother and kept reading.

“Sure thing, Sammy.” Dean closed the book in front of him and turned his attention to the cute little librarian again. He smiled as she bent over a low shelf. “You’re missin’ the real draw of libraries, dude.”

“How are you even still alive?” Sam glanced up and saw the object of his brother’s attention. He rolled his eyes. “Did you even do research while I was at college?”

“Nah. I just attacked whatever it was with various weapons until something worked.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Duh. Of course I did, but I don’t have to anymore. You’re here.” Dean grinned and yelped when Sam kicked him under the table. “Knock it off. You find anything yet?”

Sam sighed and bent over the old book again. “I dunno. Maybe. It’d help if we had more than one witness statement.”

“Can’t ask the dead.” Dean leaned back in his chair and gave his attention back to Sam as the librarian wandered out of sight. “So what only kills at night and rips off its victims heads in the dark? Ain’t your average vampire, that’s for sure.”

“No, not a vamp.” Sam turned the book in front of him and pushed it toward his brother. “I think this might be our creature. A gashadokuro.”

“Gezundheit.”

“Smart-ass. Pay attention.” Sam tapped the gruesome image on the page of a massive skeleton dripping in blood and gore. “The gashadokuro. It only kills at night, and it tears off its victims heads to drink from the blood spray. That fits the bodies of the hikers.”

“Huh. Created from the bones of starved humans. So did something make this thing and send it out?” Dean read down the entry for the creature and wished there was more.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. I did a little digging into the area.” He dug through the pile of papers on his right and smiled when he found what he wanted. He tossed the printout across the table. “Back in 1860, a group of nine hikers went missing in the winter up there. There was an avalanche and they were never found. They could have been snowed in and starved to death.”

“And this thing came outta that. Yeah.” Dean nodded. “It’s likely. How do we gank this thing?”

“I’m not sure. I need to call Bobby.” Sam began closing books and gathering up his papers. “Now that we know what it might be, he should be able to dig up more from his books.”

“Thing’s gotta be fast like a freak to nail three men at once and none of ‘em managed to put up a fight.” Dean stretched his legs out and stood. “Can we eat now or do you need to cuddle the books some more?”

Sam snorted and stood, gathering up the books. “Yeah, I could eat. I can call Bobby while you harden your arteries.”

“Damn straight. Let’s blow this pop stand.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The darkness closed over them as the sun vanished behind the mountains above, and Sam shivered as the temperature dropped. He took in the heavy forest ahead of them and tightened his grip on the hatchet he carried. Dean paced alongside him with a hatchet of his own. Bobby’s research had revealed that hacking the gashadokuro to pieces was the only way to stop it. “You sure we have enough holy water for the bones?”

“Dude, I’m humpin’ a gallon of the crap unless you wanna carry the bag.” Dean shifted the heavy backpack on his shoulders and sighed. “Come on. We gotta make better time than this. Light’s gonna be gone soon.” He’d have rather left the jug of holy water in the car, but Bobby had been specific -- coat the bones in holy water and burn them once the creature was dead. Otherwise it would just pull itself back together and come after them.

Sam would take the pack from his brother… later. He smirked as Dean huffed and puffed ahead of him. He’d beaten his brother fair and square when Dean had, as usual, thrown scissors. “We’re maybe ten minutes from the site of the last attack.” He checked his compass and nodded, seeing they were still heading in the right direction as the slope became steeper. “It should level out just beyond the tree line according to the topographical maps.”

“Awesome.” Dean groaned and gave his own shiver as they moved into the trees and the temperature dropped even further. It was summer, but up in the mountains, fall was coming early. He tugged his jacket closed and squinted in the fading light. A sound made him stop. “You hear that?”

Sam nodded. “Someone’s whistling. Great. We gotta find them before the gashadokuro does.”

Dean picked up his pace and waved Sam out ahead of him. “Try yellin’. If we can hear them, they gotta be close enough.”

“Hey!” Sam shouted and jogged away from his brother. He took out his flashlight and flicked it on as the daylight faded into darkness quickly. “Hello! Can you hear me? Hello!” He spared a glance back for Dean and then moved faster. He had a sinking feeling he couldn’t explain that their prey was nearby and they were going to be too late. “Hey!” The whistling stopped as Sam drew closer to it, and he broke from the trees into a large clearing. On the other side stood a lone man in a bright, yellow jacket and full pack. “Hey there!” Sam waved. “It’s not safe up here!”

“Dude, where did you come from?” The man backed a step away from Sam cautiously.

“No, man. Come on!” Sam jogged out into the clearing, keeping his flashlight on the hiker and skidded to a stop as the darkness suddenly seemed to roll in around them like a physical thing. “What the hell?” Sam watched the dark like a fog as it pressed in and took away all light, even the beam from his flashlight.

“Sammy?”

“Dean!” Sam turned back the way he had come; at least he hoped it was. “It’s here!”

“What the hell is this?” Dean moved with an arm held out in front of him and could see nothing but blackness. It was like every moonless night he’d ever seen all rolled into one and dropped over his eyes like a sack. It was inky and complete, and he couldn’t even see his own hand.

“Has to be the gashadokuro!” Sam turned back in the direction of the hiker. “Are you still there?”

“What the hell is happening? What’s going on?”

“Just… come toward me. Can you follow my voice?” Sam took a few steps toward the sound of the hiker and kept his hatchet raised. They hadn’t counted on the gashadokuro being able to blind them.

“Guess we know why none of the victims fought the thing.” Dean snarled and let his pack fall off his shoulders to the ground. He couldn’t afford to be slowed down, not with both their lives in danger along with the hiker’s. “Sammy, come back to me, dammit!”

“Where?” Sam scowled as his brother’s voice seemed to bounce around him along with the hiker’s panicked mutterings. “Hello?”

“Ah! What… what was that?” The hiker’s voice rose in pitch and fear. “Something touched my… what the hell was that?”

“No!” Sam shouted and strode toward the sound of the man’s voice through the blackness. “Keep talking! Hey! Keep making noise!” There was an unearthly roar that stopped Sam in his tracks. He raised the machete and blinked furiously in the darkness. There was a swirl of something in front of him and for just a moment, the blackness seemed to part. Sam could see the hiker and, behind him, the tall, skeletal form of the gashadokuro as it rose up. “Watch out!” he yelled, but it was too late. The creature wrapped one bony hand around the hiker’s shoulders and took his head with the other. Sam could only watch as his head was torn from the man’s body with a scream. Great gouts of blood spewed upward into the air and the creature drank greedily with blood spattering the bleached bones of its skull. The blackness swirled back and Sam was once more cut off. “Oh, God.”

“Sammy?”

“Dean? The hiker’s dead!”

“Shut up!” Dean shouted and tried to walk in the direction of his brother’s voice. He stumbled and righted himself. “Don’t make a damn sound! You’re closer you idiot! Keep your mouth shut!” He was having trouble breathing around the fear in his gut that was trying to choke him. Sam was far too close to the creature and wouldn’t stand a chance. “Hey, ugly! Come on!”

“Dean, don’t!”

“Told you to shut up! COME ON! Come get some!” Dean bellowed and felt around with his free hand for any sign of the beast. His eyes burned with the need to see something; anything.

Sam staggered back a step when he felt a warm, wet spray splatter across his face and neck. “Shit. Shit!”

“What? Sammy?” Dean called and felt through the air ahead of him for his brother.

Sam swung the hatchet in a wide arc and backed another step. “Dean, where are you?”

“Here!” Dean heard Sam’s voice much closer and moved faster. “Don’t take my damn head off. You ok?”

“Uh… for the moment.” Another spray of what had to be blood struck Sam’s face and he backed away furiously again. “It’s coming for me.”

“Like hell.” Dean lunged forward and his hand slapped into the back of his brother’s jacket. “Hit the deck! Now!” He trusted Sam to listen to him rather than argue. Dean took another step forward and swung his hatchet. It connected with something hard and bounced his arm back. “Sam?”

“Down here.” Sam looked up but there was still nothing to see. He could feel his brother’s booted foot pressing into his ribs and took comfort from that. “You get it?”

“Just caught a piece of it. Stay down.” Dean took another swing and caught only air. “Dammit! Would’a been nice to know this thing could bring the damn darkness with it!”

Sam nodded and stayed where he was. If he stood, he would only get in Dean’s way and risk being cut himself. “Has to still be here. I think it can see us in this mess. I think…” Sam stopped as something warm wafted over his right cheek. Cold fear fell into his stomach like a weight and he knew he was right; the gashadokuro could see them, and it had seen Sam on the ground and was even now crouching beside him out of harm’s way. It was toying with them.

“Sammy?” Dean didn’t like the way Sam’s voice had trailed off. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Dean, it’s here. It’s… I’m gonna stand up.” Sam warned his brother and put his hands to the earth. He barely got his chest off the ground when cold, hard fingers dug into his right shoulder. “Ah!” He cried out in pain as he was pulled up by his shoulder and those fingers dug down into his flesh.

“SAMMY!” Dean bellowed his brother’s name and was afraid to take another swing.

“Holy water!” Sam shouted in a moment of inspiration. “Splash it around! Ah!” He had to close his mouth or risk biting his tongue as he was shaken viciously from side to side.

“Shit!” Dean had dropped the bag at the edge of the clearing and he was no longer sure just exactly where that was. “Don’t you die!”

“Trying… not to! Crap!” Sam kicked out and connected with the gashadokuro’s body, but it didn’t drop him. It simply shook him harder. It was disorienting in the total blackness, and he no longer knew which way was up or where his brother was. “Dean!”

Dean turned, picked a direction and started off. It was all he could do, trust in his instincts to not fail him when he needed them most. He could hear Sam fighting behind him and the sounds of his little brother in pain were enough to make his teeth grind. He moved as fast as he dared with his hands out in front of him and staggered to a stop as he banged into a tree. “Damn!” Dean turned again, took a step and tripped, falling hard to his knees. He caught himself on his hands and grinned in relief when his left hand landed on his backpack. He could feel the familiar, worn leather and nylon and dragged it to him.

Sam wrapped his hands around the arm holding him and tried to twist himself free. There was no muscle or sinew to injure, and the creature’s grip stayed firm and painful. He felt a second bony hand slide over the top of his head and knew true fear. “No!” He shouted fearfully and brought one of his own up to try and deflect the gashadokuro from getting a hold of his head. If it did, he was done for. “Any… time… Dean!”

Cold, wet water suddenly splashed over Sam’s face, and he cried out as he was dropped in a heap to the ground. As quickly as it had come, the darkness shattered like a blowing fog and swirled away to leave the gashadokuro staggering back from him in the moonlight. “Dean?”

“Good idea, Sammy!” Dean sent another wave of holy water at the creature and then set the jug down beside his brother. “Don’t go anywhere.” He raised his hatchet and advanced on it while it was distracted trying to brush the offending water from its blood-stained bones. Dean took a good, hard swing at the neck and watched in satisfaction as the head was separated and flew to roll across the ground. “Gotcha you bastard.” He went after the creature with a vengeance for the pain it had visited on his little brother and the fear it had made him feel. Dean hacked at the creature until its bones were scattered around the clearing in heaps.

“Dean.” Sam called to his brother and managed to sit up on his own. “Burn it now before it can reform.”

“On it.” Dean spared a glance for Sam but knew he didn’t have time right then to assess injuries. The creature needed to be dealt with first. Sam was conscious, coherent, and at least partially vertical. That was good enough for the moment. He grabbed up the holy water again and pulled a can of lighter fluid from the backpack. Dean went to each pile of bones and doused them liberally with both. When he was finished, he set each ablaze. A collection of seven small bonfires lit the clearing around Sam when he was done. “No more Gezundheit monsters. I’m tellin’ Bobby. That sucked.”

Sam gave a soft, weary laugh. “Yeah.” He looked over at his right shoulder in the light from the fires and sighed, seeing blood. “Sucks a lot.”

“How bad you hurt?” Dean knelt beside him and took in Sam’s blood spattered face and the fresh blood welling from several punctures in the shoulder of his jacket.

“Most of it’s not mine.” Sam gestured to the crumpled body of the hiker. “Just the shoulder.”

Dean pulled a camp lantern out of the backpack and clicked it on. The light glared harshly and he set it beside Sam. “Gotta get a look at this before we go anywhere.”

“Yeah. Help me get this off.” Sam tugged at his jacket and was grateful Dean did most of the work getting it down his arm. As it was, he was gritting his teeth and breathing through his nose to manage the pain. “Crap, that hurts.”

Dean pulled the ruined flannel away and nodded. “Got five punctures here. Don’t think it’s too bad though.” He used his knife to tear out the neck of his brother’s tee-shirt rather than try and pull it off and pushed it away to bare the wounds. “Bandage these up and stop the bleeding and we can start down. You up for that?”

“To get off this mountain? Hell, yes.” Sam agreed easily. He looked across at the hiker’s body again while Dean cleaned the wounds in his shoulder and sighed in relief when the holy water he poured over them didn’t react. He’d expected burning pain. “I wish we could have saved him.”

“I know.” Dean pulled out a roll of bandages from the first aid kit and started wrapping it around his brother’s shoulder. “Can’t save ‘em all, dude. You tried.”

Sam nodded and said nothing. It didn’t make him feel better. If he’d just moved faster or found a way to reach the man in the darkness… he sighed again and closed his eyes.

“Ok, that’s as good as it’s gonna get.” Dean pulled his brother’s jacket back up onto his shoulder and patted it in place. He packed away the supplies and the lantern and held out a hand. “Ready to try standing?”

Sam nodded and took his brother’s hand with his good arm. He groaned as he reached his feet and leaned heavily on Dean for a moment. “Hope that thing wasn’t carrying any diseases. I don’t think they make shots for that.”

“Come on.” Dean shouldered the backpack again and slipped an arm around Sam’s waist to steady him. He was paler than Dean would have liked and no doubt exhausted. “I’ll buy dinner when we get back to civilization. You need a steak.”

Sam snorted. “A salad would be nice.”

“Not with that blood loss. I’m gettin’ your ass a steak and you’re damn well gonna eat it.”

“Pushy.”

“Pain in my ass.” Dean grinned and started them back down the mountain.

“Jerk.” Sam retorted with a tired smile.

“Bitch.” Dean gave him a gentle nudge so as not to knock him off balance. “You’re still eating the steak.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** becca65d


	33. For becca65d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For becca65d - If you could do a one shot doesn't matter the season I just like hurt Dean & protective Sam.
> 
> A/N: I swear this one time I will not hurt Sam. I will not hurt Sam. I will not hurt Sam. LOL Season 1 after the Benders generally is where I’ll set this just because. :D Hope you like!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam stared at the reports in front of him and ground his teeth together. “There’s nothing here.” He pushed them away and looked up at the detective across from him. “Don’t you have anything else?”

“Agent.” The detective ran a hand through his hair and tried to stay patient. “This is everything we’ve got. Are you sure your partner’s been taken? I met the guy. He’s probably just off with that waitress from Gilly’s Pub. He’ll show up in the morning.”

“He’s not,” Sam said angrily. “He wouldn’t just go off without telling me. You don’t know him.” Dean had been missing for going on four hours now and Sam’s gut told him his brother was in trouble. “All these people going missing around here and you can’t pay more attention than this?” He waved a hand over the thin reports. “Is it because they’re almost all homeless?”

“Hey! I’m doing my damn job.”

“Yeah. You’re really piling on the man hours for these people,” Sam said dismissively and stood. “Forget it. I’ll find him myself.” He stalked out of the police station, ignoring the angry words of the detective and stepped outside into the heat of the day. He knew something was wrong. Dean wouldn’t go anywhere without the Impala and he’d vanished from the bar, leaving the car behind. The Benders were still too fresh in Sam’s mind for him to have any peace and he knew damn well Dean wouldn’t just leave like that; not after nearly losing Sam that way. He understood now the panic and hopelessness his brother had felt after the Benders had taken Sam. “Where the hell are you, Dean?” The fact that none of the missing had shown up yet gave him some hope. It meant they might still be alive somewhere and that meant Dean might be alive too. Sam shook his head.

“He’s alive,” he muttered and climbed behind the wheel of the Impala. He took out the map they had been using to track the missing people and looked at it again. They had been narrowing down areas to check and had three possibilities. Sam looked at them now with fresh eyes and a sense of impending doom. “You’re alive. I know you are. So where are you? Where would it -- whatever the hell it is -- take you?”

Sam studied the map, the marks for the missing, the areas they thought most likely to be a den for whatever was taking them. He frowned at Dean’s handwriting and didn’t want to make a decision. The fear for his missing brother was crippling. He was afraid if he chose the wrong place to look, he’d be too late. He’d lose Dean. But if he didn’t focus and make a choice and move forward, he was going to lose him anyway.

“No.” Sam forcibly shook off the uncertainty and fear-induced inertia and made a decision, choosing the most remote of the three locations and the one closest to where his brother had vanished. He tossed the map aside and turned on the car. For once, the rumble of the engine wasn’t a comfort; it was a reminder that her owner was missing, and Sam felt wrong behind the wheel. That was Dean’s spot, no matter how much Sam complained about not being allowed to drive. She was their home and Dean’s baby, and he wanted his brother back where he belonged.

“Be there, Dean,” Sam muttered as he sped along the quiet streets and the sun began to sink low on the horizon.

Civilization dwindled to nothing around him and left only the trees. The darkening forest rose up around him and swallowed the last of the day’s light as he drove. Sam headed unerringly toward the system of caves he hoped was the right choice. He parked in a picnic spot and went to the trunk, taking out a shotgun, a handgun loaded with silver rounds and a backpack he’d already stocked with salt, holy water, lighter fluid, and the first aid kit. He didn’t know what to expect but he was damn well going to be ready for it. He threaded a machete onto his belt and slammed the trunk closed.

Sam flicked on his flashlight and started into the trees with his senses alert for any sign of life or something that needed killing. He trudged as quietly as he could through the undergrowth as the light left completely and his flashlight became his only means to navigate the darkness. He squinted into the forest and checked his compass, making sure he was following the right course. It took him nearly an hour to find the mouth of the caves and Sam stopped outside. He crouched down and scowled at the packed earth at its mouth. There were footprints, some of them human and some of them something else. He didn’t see the distinctive boot prints of his brother and that worried him. “Be here, Dean,” Sam whispered.

He started into the cave and kept his light aimed at the floor so it wouldn’t shine too far ahead of him. His ears strained, hearing the slightest echo of his footfalls, and then new sounds came to him. Something breathed heavily in the darkness, and above that he heard a man’s voice in a low moan and it drove him on faster; it was his brother’s voice.

Sam resisted the urge to call out and instead clicked off his flashlight. He used the sounds ahead of him and a hand on the wall to move without falling. The stone was cold and rough under his palm and sent a shiver down his spine as the breathing seemed to grow louder and then fade away as it moved into the distance.

A light up ahead made Sam blink several times to be sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. It outlined an opening, and he made slowly for it, taking care to be silent. The light grew and flickered, and the sight that met his eyes as he reached the cave entrance soothed and terrified him at the same time. The cave was lit by fires in braziers in a wide circle carved into the floor. Runes Sam didn’t recognize were drawn about its perimeter, and in the center, tied to an altar lay his big brother. Dean’s chest rose and fell as he watched, but the breaths were shallow and rapid and he was covered in far too much blood, and Sam bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out to him. He fought every instinct he had to keep from running headlong to his side. A soft moan of pain from Dean was almost his undoing, but his hunter training kicked in and held him still. If he was going to help his brother, he couldn’t let himself be caught as well.

Sam eased into the cavern and peered into the corners of the cave for any sign of something alive other than them, but there was nothing. Whatever had been breathing earlier looked to have wandered off, likely through the tunnel opposite Sam from his brother.

“Dean,” Sam said softly as he neared. He stepped into the circle and felt a brief spurt of power crackle along his spine before fading. “Dean, I’m here.”

“S’mmy?” Dean’s voice was rough and low, and he rolled his head toward the sound in disbelief. “No. No, you’re not… s’not here. He’s not…”

“Dean.” Sam reached the altar and put a hand on the top of Dean’s head. He smiled as Dean’s green eyes slowly blinked open to look up at him. “I’m really here. Swear it, man. Took me forever to track you down. You ok?” Sam knew he wasn’t, but hoped the question would reassure Dean that maybe it wasn’t so bad if Sam had to ask. Now that he stood over him, he could see a multitude of cuts covering his brother’s bare chest and stomach. Most seemed shallow, meant to cause pain, but a few he could tell were deeper, dark red blood oozing steadily out and soaking into the top of his jeans and turning the denim red. “Jesus, Dean.”

“Sammy?” Dean blinked up at his brother and tried to clear the fog in his head. He remembered something big sniffing around his head and, even through the haze of his own pain, felt fear for his brother. “No, no, no. Y’gotta get outta here. Somethin’… There’s…”

“Shh. I know, ok? There’s something in here.” Sam set the rifle down on the altar beside his brother and took out his knife. “I’m gonna get you loose. Just calm down.” He checked the cavern but there was still only them. Sam sliced through the rope holding his brother’s right arm and gently pulled it down to his side. “Try not to move yet, ok? Dean?”

Dean nodded and tried to find the energy to raise his head but it wasn’t cooperating. “Think… drugged me. Tha’ bish!”

“Who? The bar maid that went missing with you?” Sam had wondered if she was just another victim or something else, but Dean shook his head.

“Don’… didn’t know her. Grabbed me and… an’… Mindy? S’her name.” Dean closed his eyes. “Used her first. Saw it. Ate her.”

“Jesus.” Sam freed his brother’s other arm and moved down to his feet. He jerked his head up when he heard something scrape on stone. “Dean, be quiet for a sec.” He pulled the handgun loaded with silver from his back and stepped around Dean. “Who’s there? Hello?”

“Ge’me up, dammit.” Dean tried to sit up and flopped back against the rock while his chest burned with pain. “Sam.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Sam jerked his head around and watched a tall, dark-haired woman in a gauzy black robe take a step into the cavern on the other side of his brother. Sam was in no mood to risk Dean and vaulted over the altar and his brother. He slapped his feet into the ground and leveled the gun at the woman. “You stay the hell away from him. Who are you? What the hell are you feeding them to?”

“You’re about to find out.” She shook her head and looked past Sam to his brother. “I thought he was the biggest meal I could find. Turns out I was wrong. You are a big fellow, aren’t you?”

Sam watched her and frowned as she seemed to shimmer in front of him for just a moment. It happened again and he cocked the hammer back on the gun. “What are you?”

She smiled. “Good boy. You’ll never know. You should have moved on. Now you’ll both die.”

“Shoot her, Sam.” Dean rolled his head to see the woman and shuddered. “S’her. She changes! Shoot her!”

Sam pulled the trigger and the silver bullet slammed into the woman’s chest. She fell backward into the tunnel with a cry and vanished into the darkness as her body began to grow impossibly. “What the hell is she?”

Dean shook his head. “Dunno. Big. Ugly. Hungry. Ge’me outta this.”

“Ok. Ok.” Sam backed up to the altar and picked the knife back up. He used one hand to cut his brother’s feet free while keeping the gun aimed at the mouth of the black tunnel. He didn’t trust that she was dead. It had been too easy. “Your head clearing yet?”

Dean blew out a breath and raised a hand. “Gimme the gun. Got your back.”

Sam handed his brother the gun without hesitation, trusting Dean to know his own strength. If Dean said he had his back, Sam knew nothing was going to come up behind him. Even so, it was reassuring to see that he held the muzzle steady on the tunnel. “I’m gonna sit you up, alright?” he slid a hand under Dean’s back and slowly pulled him up.

Dean groaned and the muzzle of the gun lowered. He fought to bring his arm back up and breathe through the fresh waves of pain the movement was causing him. “M’ok.”

Sam took his arm away slowly until Dean was sitting on his own with one leg hanging off the side of the altar. “I’m gonna get you out of here and come back for her. I’ll bring…” He stopped when he heard a new sound in the darkness, a scrape of something heavy over stone, and the heavy breathing from before returned to echo in the cavern. “Crap. Stay down.”

“Like… like hell.” Dean groaned and tried to get both legs off the altar, but Sam was there to push him back.

“You can barely move! Stay here and hold the gun.” Sam gave his stubborn and bleeding brother another push down. Both their heads whipped up and around as something huge and dark emerged into the cavern from the entrance Sam had used.

“Holy crap,” Dean breathed. He brought the handgun around and aimed shakily at the creature. “Sam?”

“It’s not getting us.” Sam said firmly and grabbed up the rifle from the edge of the altar. “This thing is not getting us.” He moved around the altar to put himself between Dean and the horror that entered the cavern, ignoring Dean’s pained pleas for him to just run,and got his first good look at it. Its head brushed the roof of the cavern. It was black and big, and, as it moved, it was sinuous like a snake, a giant serpent that slithered further into the firelight as Sam watched, and it hissed at him, baring two fangs as long as his forearm. “Shit. Not good.”

Behind him, Dean aimed at its head and fired. The recoil threw his weakened arm back but the bullet hit true in the creature’s left eye, making it roar and thrash. “Get it, Sammy.”

Sam fired his own rifle and hit the serpent in the head again. He dropped the gun and drew the machete from his hip. He moved in while it was disoriented and knew he had only one chance of killing it before it could hurt him. He ducked to the side and brought the machete up in a swing from below. The blade bit into the serpent’s neck just below its jaw and Sam forced it back and up. The serpent screamed and writhed, its coils thrashing into Sam’s legs. He hit the floor hard and rolled away with his machete still in his grip and covered in the creature’s dark blood.

“Sammy?”

“I’m ok!” Sam called quickly before his brother could try and wade into the fight. “I’m good! Stay there!” He jumped another thrashing coil of the body and brought the machete down over the head this time. Sam’s blade sliced into the back of its neck. He sawed the machete through the meat and bone and stumbled in relief when the head was cut free to roll away, still hissing, across the floor. “Holy crap!” he gasped and staggered back out of the way while the body continued to convulse for several seconds before finally going still. He was sprayed with blood and gore and sniffed in distaste at the smell coming off of him. “Yech.”

“Sam. Y’alright?” Dean’s eyes were still having trouble focusing, but he could see his brother moving in the quieting cavern. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, Dean. I’m alright.” Sam made his way back to his brother and took another look at him. It was so good to see Dean alive and breathing and awake after the hours not knowing what had happened to him. Sam impulsively grabbed him up in a hug, uncaring of the gore or the bloody wounds on Dean’s chest. He just needed to hold on to him for a moment.

“Geez. Ya’ big girl,” Dean groaned, but he held on to his brother just as hard until Sam finally released him. “We done huggin’ it out? Wan’get outta here.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Sam blushed and shook his head. “Sorry. Long day.” He smiled and grabbed his bag from the floor beside the altar. “You good for a minute?”

“Burn that bitch,” Dean said firmly. “We’ll figure out what she was later.”

Sam pulled the salt and lighter fluid from the bag and set about coating the long body of the serpent and its head. He finished covering the head of the beast in salt and lighter fluid and turned to find Dean slumped over himself on the altar. “Dean?”

Dean’s head bobbed up and he blinked owlishly. “Yep. M’here. Crap, what’d that bitch give me?”

“I dunno. But whatever it is, it’s combined with blood loss. Gotta get you out of here.” Sam went back to his brother and shouldered his bag. He saw Dean’s leather jacket lying on the floor and snatched it up. “Hey. Here. It’s cold out there by now.” He draped the jacket over his brother’s bare shoulders and helped Dean thread his arms into the sleeves. He was glad to see that even though the deeper cuts still oozed sluggishly, they seemed to be stopping, obviously not as deep as Sam had feared at first. “You good to walk out of here? It’s about an hour back to the car.”

Dean grunted and slid off the altar. He caught himself on Sam’s shoulder and was grateful for the arm that slid behind his back to steady him. “Yeah. I can make it. Torch that bitch and let’s get outta here.”

“Come on.” Sam pulled his brother’s arm over his shoulders, grimacing with him as the wounds on Dean’s chest pulled painfully. “I’ll clean those up outside. None of them look too deep.”

Dean shook his head as they made their way slowly across the cavern to the tunnel out. “No. She was just screwin’ with me. Said she was tenderizing the damn meat.”

Sam shuddered. When I first saw you, I thought” -- Sam’s voice caught a bit. “I couldn’t tell.”   
  
Dean glanced over at him in understanding. He knew the feeling. “Well, I’m all right. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Sam stopped when they reached the mouth of the tunnel. He turned and kicked over the brazier nearest the door. It fell with a crash in a shower of sparks as coals scattered out across the stone. The body of the serpent burst into flames and they quickly spread to the head until the cave was lit by the light of the burning creature.

Dean watched with satisfaction for a moment and smiled. “Nice.”

They walked quietly out of the cave system except for Dean’s grunts of pain until at last they stepped out into the chilled evening air. Sam eased his brother down against the rock and leaned him back to look at him in the moonlight. He smiled at Dean’s pale face while he dug out the first aid kit. “You know I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while, right?”

Dean gave a weary chuckle and nodded. “Yeah. I get that.” And he did. It would be a long time before he forgot the soul-deep terror of not knowing where Sam was or what had happened to him, and he was sorry that his little brother now knew what that felt like first-hand. He reached a hand out and grabbed Sam’s shoulder while he was uncapping the disinfectant. “Dude. Thanks for finding my sorry ass.”

Sam smiled again and met Dean’s eyes. “Couldn’t let you get eaten. You still owe me ten bucks.”

“Nice, Sammy. Real… crap that hurts!... nice.” Dean gritted his teeth while his brother cleaned the wounds on his chest and taped bandages over some of them. “How’d you know I didn’t just get lucky?”

Sam snorted a soft laugh and leaned back once he was finished. “You left the car. You’d never leave the car.”

Dean was surprised into a laugh and smiled at the warmth that moved through him. He put up a hand and let Sam help him back to his feet. Dean tugged the leather closed across his chest and started walking with Sam supporting him. “Seriously, Sammy. Saved my ass. Thanks.”

“I couldn’t breathe,” Sam admitted and rolled his eyes at himself for letting that out. “You were gone and there was no sign, and I just…”

“Hey. I know, little brother. I know.” Dean patted Sam’s shoulder in sympathy. “I remember. Not likely to forget anytime soon.”

Sam nodded and made sure to stay on level ground for his brother as they walked through the darkened forest. “Maybe we should start wearing GPS transmitters or something,” he said with a laugh and was only half joking.

“Don’t give Bobby any ideas.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Or Dad. You imagine how much he’d love knowin’ where we are twenty-four-seven? Man, we’d get no peace.”

“I’d rather tag Dad with a damn tracker,” Sam said and huffed a laugh. “Bet I could get one in his truck.”

“Bet he could kick your ass.” Dean chuckled wearily. “Bet you ten, when we find him, you can’t get a tracker on his truck without him noticing.”

“Another ten?” Sam smirked. “Easy money.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam tossed the strangely affectionate jibe back and then tightened his arm around Dean’s back. “Real glad to have you back, Dean.”

“Don’t hug me again. You’re makin’ it weird.” Dean grinned at his little brother and the relief that was clear on his face. “Glad to be back, Sammy. Glad to be back.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up:** Nouri


	34. For Nouri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Nouri - Boys is peril. Regular human peril. The boys get stuck in a hostage situation. Maybe they're in a bank to scout the place for haunting or cursed object or to interview a witness. Sam gets shot, but Dean is all the way accross the room and trying to get to his brother. One of the bad guys try to stop him, Dean gets angry and yells Shoot me if you must but I'm going to my brother. Hero!boys
> 
> A/N: Ooh this one’s gonna be fun! I don’t shoot them very often!

**Reviews are love. :D  
All chapters of the Reader’s Special and Rewards are beta’d by the always awesome JaniceC678.**

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Dean walked slowly across the tiled floor of the bank toward the wall. He glanced across and easily found Sam’s head above all the others on the other side. He looked back to the row of ornate vases on pedestals and sighed. Of course, the cursed vase they were looking for was sold and naturally a bank had to toss it in the lobby. What else would you do with a vase cursed to bring misfortune on anyone who touched it? He rolled his eyes and bent to look closely at the nearest. He knew the design they were looking for. They just had to find it and then figure out how to get it out of the bank. Dean smirked; he’d volunteered to ‘accidentally’ break the thing and carry out the pieces. Sam had vetoed him, not wanting a hundred pieces of cursed vase floating around.

“You need help?”

Dean looked up and found the bank’s security guard standing next to him. “Nope. All good. Just waiting on my brother.” He waved a hand out into the bank vaguely. “He’s in line. Just checkin’ out the, uh… pretty vases.”

“Right.” The security guard didn’t look convinced, but he wandered back to his spot by the door and kept his eyes on the tall man.

“Awesome,” Dean groaned. There was no way they were sneaking a vase out with the keystone cop watching his every move. He moved on to the next vase, searching the blue painted designs for the one symbol they were looking for and still found nothing. A low whistle brought Dean’s head up and he looked over the heads of the people waiting in line. Sam was on the other side, smiling and waved to him; his brother had found it. Dean started to grin and then saw an older man bump into his brother. Sam’s face widened in surprise as he staggered back a step and Dean heard something crash. “Crap.” If Sam had touched it…

The doors to the bank suddenly burst open. Four men in black ski masks burst through the door brandishing guns. Dean jerked back a step in surprise. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me!”

“Everybody down!”

Dean watched as the men leveled their weapons at the small crowd. People dove for the floor and Dean saw his brother left standing on his own for just a second before he started to bend but it wasn’t fast enough. Gunfire erupted and echoed loudly in the bank. Amid screaming and shouting from the terrified patrons, Dean dove for the floor and watched in horror as his little brother fell gracelessly in a heap. He looked up and saw the security guard take a round in the chest, slam into the wall behind him, and slide to the floor, dead.

“Nobody move! Move and you’redead!”

Dean looked across the wide, marble room for his brother and saw Sam still lying motionless where he’d fallen on his back and fear choked him. The gunmen spread out into the bank with two of them hopping the counters and Dean got to his knees.

“Hey! I told you not to move!” The gunman shouted and aimed his gun at the tall man’s head.

Dean snarled up at him. “You shot my brother. I need to check on him. Now.”

“Get your ass back on the floor!”

Dean stood angrily, his own safety forgotten in his need to get to Sam. “You wanna shoot me then you SHOOT ME!” Dean bellowed. “But I’m goin’ to my brother, you son of a bitch!” he turned his back boldly on the man with the gun and stalked across the bank. He expected to feel hot lead tearing through his back as he stepped over the prone, terrified bodies of the other people. He blew out a breath when it didn’t happen. “Sammy,” Dean said softly and dropped to his knees beside his clearly bleeding brother. Blood welled fast and hard from a wound in his left shoulder and Sam’s eyes were glazed, staring up at the ceiling. Dean palmed the side of his face, rolling Sam’s eyes toward him. “Hey, buddy.”

Sam swallowed once, hard and focused on his brother. “Dean.” He frowned and tried to breathe around the weight lodged in his chest. “Touched… touched it… when it broke.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Dean pulled Sam’s jacket back and shook his head. “Soon as the bullets started flyin’. How you doin’?” he asked as he pulled a bandana out of his pocket and folded it up.

Sam shook his head slowly and swallowed again. “Hurts. Think… think I got sh-shot.”

Dean smiled through his own fear and pressed the bandana into the wound, grimacing as Sam whined in pain. “Yeah, buddy. You got a hole in ya’, alright. Just breathe, Sammy. Keep breathin’, ok?”

Sam nodded once and focused on dragging labored breaths in and out while his brother forced well-meaning pain on him, pressing into the wound in his shoulder. “Dean. Hurt?”

“No, Sammy. I’m good.” Dean smiled ruefully. “I didn’t touch the thing. Relax.” He pressed harder to try and slow the bleeding and looked around. Two gunmen were still behind the counter emptying cash registers and Dean saw the man he’d yelled at walking toward them with his gun trained on Dean. He was fine with that so long as the muzzle of the weapon stayed the hell away from his brother. He watched the man approach and bent over Sam further to try and protect him. “What?”

“You got balls,” the man said and waved his gun slightly. “Might still shoot you.”

“Well, do it then.” Dean glared up at him. “’Cause I ain’t leavin’ him; and, believe me, you try to make me and that gun ain’t gonna stop me killin’ your ass. You shot him. That kinda thing pisses me off.”

The gunman chuckled. “Yep. Balls.” He nodded. “I got a brother. Don’t think I’d take a bullet for the little bastard though.”

Dean snorted derisively. “Then you ain’t much of a big brother. Get the hell away from him.”

“Don’t tempt me, asshole.” The gunman pointed the muzzle of his gun down at Sam. “’Cause I might just start with him.”

“Screw you.” Dean had had enough. A lifetime of training gave him the speed he needed as he sprang up under the gunman’s arm. Dean grabbed the hand with the gun and gave it a vicious twist, freeing it to fall into his own hand. He turned and fired into the thigh of the other gunman still out in the lobby with them. Dean drove his elbow back into the bastard’s ribs and smirked when his little brother’s long leg lashed out and slammed into his kneecap. The gunman screamed in pain and went to the floor in a rush. Dean stepped away and took aim at the two men behind the counter. They were both standing and staring in surprise and made easy targets. Dean fired once and then twice, taking each man in the shoulder near the neck. They might survive, but if they didn’t, he wasn’t going to lose a lot of sleep over it. They both fell out of sight, and Dean stalked across the floor to the first man he’d shot. He kicked the gun away from him and stomped on his hand for good measure. “Stay down, asshole.”

“Dean.”

Sam’s soft, pain-filled voice drew him back and Dean slid to his knees again beside his brother. “Hey. Hey, Sammy. Right here. I’m right here.” He put his hand back over the bandana and pressed down. Blood was still welling up from underneath, and he didn’t like the pasty, almost ghostly look of Sam’s skin or the slight blue tinge to his lips. “You still with me, buddy?”

Sam nodded but couldn’t find the strength to speak. He looked up at his brother’s face and knew, somewhere deep down, that he was screwed. He’d touched the cursed vase. There was little Dean could do for him until the vase was in the curse box. He opened his mouth to try and tell his brother that, but the words wouldn’t come, he had so little air to even breathe with.

Dean watched Sam miserably. He knew what he needed to do, but he couldn’t imagine how he’d gather up the pieces of the vase and get it outside without someone stopping him. He looked over at it and saw that it had only broken into four, large pieces. That would make it easier, but there was still a room full of crying people between him and the curse box in the Impala’s trunk. “Sammy, I gotta get that vase.”

The doors to the bank burst open again, but this time it was a foursome of armed policemen who entered the bank. They hadn’t taken two steps before the terrified patrons were on them and all babbling out how the robbers had entered, killed the guard, and how one man had taken them all down.

“Hey!” Dean shouted and caught the eyes of one of the cops. “My brother’s been shot! We need an ambulance! Now!”

“Holy crap. Hang on!”

Dean watched the man run back outside and turned back to his brother. “I’ll get the vase while they’re takin’ care of you, ok? You just gotta hold on. Hold on, Sammy. Don’t you quit on me.”

Sam’s breaths were increasingly labored, but he nodded for his brother. His vision was starting to dim and he wished he could move, could grab hold of Dean and hold on to him to anchor himself.

“I’m here, Sammy.” Dean grabbed Sam’s hand with his own and squeezed it tightly. “Focus on me, ok?” He caught Sam’s eyes and smiled for him. “You’re gonna be fine, dude. I promise.” The blood still flowing beneath his other hand did nothing to reassure Dean and he pressed even harder, sure that he would be bruising hell out of his brother’s shoulder but not caring.

“Make room! Coming through!”

Dean looked around and saw two paramedics with a gurney come in and he waved them over. “Here! Over here!” He moved reluctantly aside as they reached him. He backed up next to the wall and the broken vase and let them get at his brother. Dean tugged his jacket off and dropped it on the floor over the broken fragments while he watched them cut Sam’s blood-soaked jacket and shirts away from his shoulder. “Is he gonna be ok?”

“Sir, you should let us work. We’ll get him in the ambulance and you can follow us to Cedars. Alright?”

Dean nodded and knelt down. “Sammy?” his brother’s head rolled toward the sound of Dean’s voice with a mask over his mouth. “You’re gonna be ok, buddy. Just hold on, alright?” Dean watched them slide a board under his brother and helped them lift Sam’s heavy body up onto the gurney. He stepped back and forced himself to wait while they wheeled Sam out. While all eyes were on his brother, Dean knelt and hastily gathered up his jacket with the vase’s broken pieces safely inside. He tucked it under one arm and jogged after the gurney that was already outside.

“Sir! We need to talk to you!”

Dean glared at the officer who tried to stop him. “That’s my brother and I am not standin’ around here playin’ fifty questions while he’s fighting for his life. You want answers, come find me at the hospital.” Dean turned his back on the man and strode outside.

The ambulance had parked in front of the Impala and Dean jogged around his car to the trunk. He slid to a stop in shock when he heard someone in the ambulance yell ‘Clear!’ He turned in time to watch his brother’s body arch up under the paddles held by one of the paramedics and thump back to the gurney.

“Oh, God.” Dean breathed and ran for the trunk. He tore it open and fumbled the curse box inside open. Dean upended his jacket over the box, letting the broken pieces of the cursed vase fall inside with a clatter. He heard ‘Clear!’ yelled again and hastily slammed the lid shut. He closed the trunk and looked over the roof. Sam’s body arched up painfully again and Dean slowly walked up the side of the Impala toward the ambulance with dread burning a hole in his stomach. Had he been too late?

“Sinus rhythm! Bag him! We got him back!”

Dean’s knees went weak and he sagged against the side of the car to hold himself up. “Holy crap, Sammy,” he whispered in relief. The ambulance doors banged closed and Dean climbed quickly behind the wheel of the Impala. He gunned the engine and followed them out. He wasn’t going to lose them in traffic. He needed to know for himself that Sam was going to be alright.

The drive to the hospital behind the ambulance seemed to take forever. Dean never let them get more than half a car length ahead of him and his eyes bored holes in the back of the ambulance, wishing he could see in and see his brother. He parked in a no parking spot outside the emergency room and was there when they wheeled Sam’s gurney off the ambulance.

“Sammy!” Dean ran to his side and grabbed his brother’s hand. “How’s he doin’?” he asked the paramedics as they walked quickly.

“Well, it was touch and go for a minute but he seems to be gaining strength now.” One of the men smiled at Dean. “I think he’s gonna be alright.”

Dean reluctantly allowed himself to be pushed aside and was forced to stand uselessly by while Sam was wheeled out of sight. It was over two hours before a doctor came and found him and Dean all but pounced the man. “My brother! How is he? Can I see him?”

“Mr. Winchester.” The doctor smiled and took his arm. “Your brother is going to be just fine. He lost a lot of blood and we had to surgically remove the bullet, but it went very well and he’s just out of recovery. You can see him now if you like.”

“Hell, yes. I mean, yeah. Please.” Dean managed a smile and followed the doctor back into the emergency room and down a long hall. “So he’s really gonna be ok then?”

“The bullet nicked an artery, but we were able to repair it.” The doctor waved toward a door. “He’ll be a little fuzzy still from the anesthesia, but he really is going to be fine. He’s doing very well. I’ll check on him again in a little while.”

“Thanks, doc.” Dean pushed open the door and found his little brother, all six feet four inches of him packed into a bed that he somehow managed to look small in, dressed in a white gown with bandages wrapping his left shoulder and far too many tubes and wires sticking out from under the gown and his arms. “Sammy?”

Sam’s head rolled over and he opened his eyes. He frowned and reached his good hand up to poke at the tube running irritatingly under his nose. “Mmf. Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Man, how you feelin’?”

Sam looked up at him and smiled. “Like I got shot. But i’ss cool. Gave me…” he held up his arm and waved the tubes leading to the IV stand at his brother. “S’drugs. M’not feelin’ any pain.”

Dean chuckled and eased a hip onto the side of the bed. He put a hand to the side of Sam’s neck and just looked at him, knowing how close he’d come to losing him. “That was close, Sammy. Real close. We’re gonna go hole up at Bobby’s when you get outta here, ok? No arguments. You need some down time.”

Sam nodded and smiled, rolling his head further into his brother’s hand as his eyes fell heavily closed. “M’kay.”

“God, you’re easy like this.” Dean laughed and kept his hand there since Sam seemed to want him too. Truthfully, he wanted to keep a hand on him to reassure himself that Sam really was alright. He wouldn’t soon forget the image of seeing Sam’s body arching uselessly under the paddles in that ambulance. It would haunt him for a good long time. “Get some sleep, kiddo. I’ll be right here. Not goin’ anywhere.” He squeezed the side of Sam’s neck and whispered. “And neither are you.”

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_The End._

**Next Up:** firstcatfish


	35. for firstcatfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For firstcatfish - While laid up in the bunker with an injury (your choice), Sam decides to inventory the collection of cursed objects the MoLs have collected over the years. An accident leads to a broken box and Sam touching the object. When he tries to talk, he finds that the words in his sentences are scrambled. They sound right in his head, but they are all mixed up to anyone listening. Of course Dean can't resist laughing at him. Together, Dean and Sam must find a way to recapture the cursed item and fix Sam's speach. Humorous moments with perhaps a touch of hurt/comfort just for fun.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: You said ‘recapture’ and my little brain said oooooooh. What if they actually DID have to recapture the damn thing? So this happened. LOL Enjoy!  
> ** This chapter is unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. :D

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Sam pulled another box off the shelf and set it on the floor. The Men of Letters had amassed quite the collection of cursed objects over the years. The storeroom Sam found had been protected with every sigil he knew and some he didn’t. The shelves inside were lined with curse boxes of all shapes and sizes and the filing system for them was half destroyed with age thanks to an enterprising family of rats that Sam had ousted and rehomed outside the bunker before his brother saw them.

He pulled over the book he’d found in the library and flipped it to the next page. It was a log of all the collected objects and Sam was determined to catalogue them all and find out what was still there and what might be out in the world again. “This guy had horrible handwriting,” he muttered as he squinted to decipher the small, tight script on the page. Sam bent and checked the tag on the curse box, having to wipe dust away in order to read it. “There has to be a better way to do this.” He stood and looked up the shelves that rose a foot above his head to the ceiling. “Suppose I could make a database.”

“You talkin’ to yourself again?” Dean asked as he stepped into the room and took in his brother, spotted with dust and surrounded by curse boxes and books from the library. “What are you doing?”

“Inventory.” Sam shrugged and picked up the inventory ledger from the floor. “Figured it’d be a good idea to know what’s actually in here and what’s not. Might be some useful stuff here or some dangerous stuff out there.”

Dean snorted. “You find anything labeled ‘rabbit’s foot’ you leave it the hell alone.”

Sam chuckled and nodded. The last rabbit’s foot they’d dealt with had very nearly killed him. “Trust me. I find one of those, we’re burning it.”

“Well don’t take all day. I’ll have food up in an hour.” Dean swatted his brother’s shoulder with a grin. “Might even make you some rabbit food.”

“Go and play in the kitchen please?” Sam said with a smile and looked back at the boxes. “Stop distracting me.”

“Geek.”

“Whatever.” Sam chuckled as Dean left and he checked the ledger again. He sighed and shook his head. “You’d think the Men of Letters would have had better bookkeeping skills.” He leaned up toward the top shelf, having to stretch even at his height and curled his fingers around a smaller box. “Come on, you little…” Sam pulled and the box seemed to pop off the shelf. “Crap!” He fumbled to catch it as it fell, spinning and banged a knee into the shelves as he finally wrapped both hands around it. He turned and could only watch as the box he’d hit with his knee slid backwards off the shelf. “No, no, no!” He reached for it but was too slow and the box fell, slamming into the floor behind the shelves.

“Awesome,” Sam groaned. He set the small box back on the shelf and walked around to the other side. It lay on its end, long and black with sigils scribed in white paint on its side. Sam knelt to pick it up. He took hold of the box and lifted and fell back on his heels when the side crumbled to the floor. “Shit!” Something gold and shining rolled from the box and Sam instinctively tried to catch it. He put his hand out and felt warm metal slide over his skin. He tried to curl his fingers around the elongated object and it burst into motion.

“Shit. Shit!” Sam drew his hand quickly back but not before something raked across his palm and drew blood. He scrambled away as the object clanged into the floor and watched. It moved as though alive. Golden wings sprouted from its sides and Sam stared in surprise as it took the air. “What the hell?”

Sam ducked when the metal creature dove for his head. He shouted as sharp, metal talons tore down the side of his neck and swung at the thing. He missed and gained his feet. “Come here you little… crap!” He yanked his hand away when it snapped metal teeth at him and flew out the door. “Oh hell. Dean!” Sam ducked out the door and saw a glimpse of the thing before it fluttered out of sight around a corner.

“Dean!” Sam ran down the hall, up the stairs and into the kitchen. “We have a problem.”

“What?” Dean turned to look at his brother and frowned in confusion.

“I may have accidentally opened one of the curse boxes.” Sam gestured to his bleeding wounds and shook his wounded hand out, spraying drops of blood on the floor. “Something got out and… and took off. It sprouted teeth and wings and flew away, man. I swear.”

“Sammy?” Dean took in his brother’s bleeding wounds and his confusion deepened. “You wanna try speakin’ English, dude? What the hell are you saying?”

“What?” Sam stared. “What do you mean what am I… something got out of a curse box and it’s flying around the bunker! Come on!”

“Sam!” Dean grabbed his brother’s arm and stared hard at him. “You’re talkin’ gibberish. What the hell happened to you?”

“What do you mean I’m talking… Dean, knock it off.” Sam watched the ever-deepening lines of confusion on his brother’s face and felt panic start. “I’m speaking English, Dean. Tell me you can understand me.”

“Sammy, knock it off. You’re startin’ to freak me out.” Dean took his brother’s hand and turned it over, looking at the bleeding gash in his palm. He put a hand to Sam’s throat and the three bleeding wounds there, not liking that the blood was staining the neck and shoulder of his shirt red. “Ok, we need to take care of these and you need to start makin’ sense.”

“I am making sense!” Sam waved his free arm and pulled his hand back from his brother. “You’re the one that’s not making any sense!”

“Alright, what the hell is goin’ on?” Dean grabbed Sam’s elbow and pulled him from the kitchen. He looked back at him as he led his brother out to the library. “You realize every word you’re sayin’ is nonsense, right? I mean you’re not makin’ a lick of sense, Sammy. You’re just stringing words and pieces of words together that don’t go together!”

Sam’s mouth opened in shock. “But… everything I say is making perfect sense to me!” He looked at Dean and saw only confusion on his face. “What’s going on?”

“You were in the curse box room. Did you touch something?” Dean asked and frowned when Sam babbled more nonsense and nodded furiously. “Ok, calm down. So you touched something. We just need to figure out what. Sit.” He pushed Sam down into a chair at one of the tables and went to get the first aid kit.

“Dammit.” Sam reached across the table and grabbed his legal pad and a pen as Dean came back. He quickly wrote ‘cursed object loose’ and held it up to Dean. “See?”

Dean looked at the paper, set the first aid kit on the table and worked very hard not to laugh outright. “Uh, Sammy. It says…” he stopped and scrubbed a hand over his face to try and stop the smirk. “It says ‘barmy love noodles’, dude.” Sam’s face turned into such an image of frustration that Dean burst out laughing in spite of himself. “Oh, man. Your face.”

Sam jerked the legal pad back and looked at it. It really did say ‘barmy love noodles’ and he gave a loud sigh of disgust. “Great. I have no way to communicate.” A frisson of fear worked through his gut as he tossed the legal pad to the table. “You can’t understand a word I say, can you?”

Dean watched his brother and the fear moving across his face and it quickly killed the humor for him. “We’ll figure this out.” He opened the first aid kit and took out some gauze and the antiseptic. “Now sit still and gimme that hand.”

Sam held his hand out wordlessly, flinching only slightly as Dean poured antiseptic over the cut. He was far too busy swallowing around the lump of fear in his throat; the sudden uncertainty in his gut that any of this was even happening.

Dean wrapped a bandage around Sam’s right hand and tied it off. He wet some gauze with antiseptic for his brother’s neck and looked up. The look on Sam’s face stopped him cold. “Sammy?” It was fear and as he watched, Sam took his left hand in his right and started digging his thumb into his palm in a gesture he hadn’t seen in over two years and hoped never to again. Dean grabbed hold of his hands and pried them apart.

“Sam! Look at me.” Dean watched Sam try to fight him and shook his head. “No, no, no. Sammy, no. Dude, look at me!” The sharp tone of voice worked and his brother’s fear-filled eyes snapped to his. “You’re fine, alright? This is just… I don’t know what the hell this is but we’ll figure it out. Your marbles are not rollin’ for the corners again, ok? You hearin’ me? This is real, Sam. I’m real.”

Sam took a shuddering breath and then another and blew it out. He nodded. “Ok,” he breathed and stopped fighting his brother. He let his arms go lax and tried to sit back. “Ok.” He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that but all he had to hold onto was Dean. His stone number one.

“Good.” Dean assumed the garbled words meant Sam was agreeing with him and he let his hands go. “Let me clean up your neck and we’ll go back to the curse box room and figure this out. Tilt your head up.” Dean nudged Sam’s chin back and picked the gauze back up. He carefully went over the three claw marks with a spurt of anger for whatever had hurt his brother and done this too him.

Sam worked at being calm while Dean cleaned his neck and kept his eyes on the hall in case the cursed object appeared. He had to find some way to let Dean know that it was flying and loose in the bunker. More importantly, he needed to know what it was so they could stop it and fix whatever it had done to him. “I need the ledger I was using.”

“Huh?” Dean smirked and shook his head while he taped a bandage over his brother’s throat. “Pretty sure ‘farty’ didn’t have anything to do with what you’re actually tryin’ to say.”

Sam growled in irritation. “This sucks!”

Dean chuckled. “Don’t have to understand that one to figure it out. Yeah this is crap. Come on.” He slapped Sam’s shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Curse box room.”

Sam moved in front of his brother and pointed at his eyes and then the air around them. “Come on, Dean. Figure it out.” He did it again.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Wait, you tellin’ me there’s something loose in here?”

Sam nodded and smiled in relief. “Yes.”

“Great.” Dean drew his gun and shoved Sam behind him. “Big or small?” he asked and looked back over his shoulder.

Sam held his hands out in a rough approximation of the metal creature’s size and shrugged. “About a foot, maybe two.”

“Damn I really wish you could tell me how you got hurt. I’m gonna assume the thing has claws.” Dean’s eyes roved the hall and each nook and cranny as they walked. He checked down the stairs before starting down them to the floor below and kept Sam at his back. “You see it just… tap me on the shoulder or something since speech ain’t workin’ out so well for you right now.”

Sam sighed and nodded. He followed Dean down the stairs and toward the curse box room. “Wait.” He pulled Dean to a stop and tried to imitate bird wings with his hands. “It’s flying. Flying.”

Dean frowned and then snorted a laugh as Sam made ridiculous motions with his hands and spouted more gibberish. “Ok, ok. Stop before I piss my pants laughin’.” He knocked Sam’s hands down and grinned. “I get it. It’s flying, right?” He laughed at Sam’s dark glower and nod. “Maybe we should try charades.”

“Shut up!” Sam shoved Dean’s shoulder in frustration as his brother continued to chuckle.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and tried to push back the laughter. “Sorry. Ok, come on.” He opened the door to the curse box room and looked inside. “Still in here?” Sam shook his head and Dean sighed. “Of course it’s not. That’d be too easy.”

Sam moved past him again and strode back to the shelf and the broken box. “Here.” Sam knelt and picked up the ledger and gestured to the curse box. “It cracked open when it hit the floor.”

Dean laughed and slapped a hand over his mouth when Sam growled again. “Sorry, dude. But you should hear the things comin’ outta your mouth. Whoever cursed this thing had a sense of humor.” He grinned when Sam spoke again and shook his head. “I’m not even gonna repeat that one.” He knelt and picked up the curse box, looking at the end of the box that had broken open. “Should be easy enough to glue this back together. Will that work, do you think?”

Sam shrugged. “As long as none of the symbols are broken and the box is whole, yeah. It should I guess.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dean picked up the box and the broken end and set them on a nearby table. “Anything in the book?”

Sam found the entry for the curse box and groaned. “Just an entry for the card catalogue upstairs. I’ll have to go back and look for it.” He looked up and saw Dean’s barely contained mirth and ground his teeth together. Sam tapped the book and pointed up toward the library and then himself.

“Need to hit the books. Got it.” Dean turned away and ran a hand over his face. “Holy crap.”

Sam punched his brother’s shoulder and headed for the door. “Jerk.”

Dean snorted and followed him. “I can figure that one out, bitch.” He slapped the back of Sam’s arm and quickly side-stepped his brother in the hall to get ahead of him. “I’m the one with the gun, dumbass. Stay behind me.”

“Pushy.” Sam grumbled but did as his brother asked and kept pace behind him. He heard a curious sound ahead of them, like the tinkling of metal and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. “Dean.”

“Yeah, I hear it. Stay back.” Dean took cautious steps to the stairs and looked up. “Shit!” He ducked as something flew out at him. He felt hard metal batter against the top of his head and stared at the flying contraption trying to assault him.

Sam reached out with the ledger, swung and knocked the creature down the hall, spinning it away with an angry hiss. “I don’t think shooting it is going to work. It’s made of metal.”

Dean shook his head at the gibberish, wishing he could understand his brother and took aim at the cursed creature. “Ok, ugly.” He fired twice. Both bullets slammed into the elongated, golden body of the creature and ricocheted off into the walls. Dean ducked hurriedly and felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder behind him. “Ok. Bad idea. Not doin’ that again.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw the knowing look on his brother’s face. “Shuddup, Sammy.”

The creature spun off down the hall and around a corner again and Sam groaned. “Come on. I need the library and you need something to fix that box with.”

Dean let Sam go on ahead of him up the stairs and kept his eyes behind them. “I need to get that curse box back in one piece and you need to figure out what the hell that thing did to you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I just said that.”

“You rollin’ your eyes at me?” Dean asked with a laugh and put his gun up at his back. He needed to find a better way to deal with the damn thing than bullets.

Sam ignored him and trudged up the stairs. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Why does this crap always happen to me?” Behind him he heard his brother muffle more laughter and rolled his eyes. “I don’t even want to know what’s coming out of my mouth.”

“Farty twat buckets. Dude.” Dean wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and followed his brother into the library. “Maybe we could leave you like this for a while. This is entertaining as hell. Umph,” he grunted when Sam’s elbow landed in his gut and then laughed again. “Yeah, maybe not. Go on. Find this thing.” Dean chuckled and looked around, eyes landing on the samurai swords in their display. “Perfect.”

Sam dug through the card catalogue and finally found the entry he wanted. He went to the shelves and poured through row upon row until finally he found the volume he wanted near the back. He blew off a layer of dust and took it to the table. “Got it,” he said for what it was worth, hoping Dean’s ability to read him would work even though he was speaking nonsense. He looked up and couldn’t stop the smirk as his big brother went through a few practice swings with the samurai sword. “Oh, this is gonna end badly.”

“What was that?” Dean asked and lowered the sword; taking in the smile on his brother’s face. “Stop laughin’ at me and find the damn thing already.”

Sam chuckled and nodded. He bent to the book and started flipping through it for the page numbers listed in the catalogue; silently saying a thank you to whoever of the Men of Letters had paid such meticulous attention to detail when cataloguing the bunker’s contents.

Dean plucked his brother’s jacket from the back of a chair. It would make a decent net to hold the strange creature in long enough to return it to its box. “You.” He pointed a finger at Sam when his brother’s head came up. “You stay right here. I’m gonna grab the superglue and put that box back together. I mean it, Sammy. No wanderin’ around with that thing out there.”

“I can take care of myself,” Sam retorted and flipped his brother off. “Bet that one gets through loud and clear.”

“Smart ass,” Dean said with a grin. “I mean it, dude. Stay in the library.”

“Right.” Sam sat and pulled the book over to him. “Wouldn’t want to wander off and get in even more trouble.” He scrubbed his good hand through his hair in frustration. “Why did I have to touch the damn thing?” Sam flipped through the book quickly and found the entry. He frowned as he read it and then sat back with a thump. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. An enchanted, golden brick purported to be from the tower of Babel?” He pulled the book to him and read further. He was so engrossed he didn’t hear Dean return and jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“I take it you found it,” Dean said with smirk and plucked the book out of his brother’s hands. “Can we fix you?”

Sam nodded. He stood and pointed to a section of the entry.

Dean read through it with a brow raised. “So this thing’s from the tower of Babel. Like the biblical tower?” He sighed when Sam nodded. “That explains the whole gibberish thing, huh?” He read further and began to grin. He looked sideways at his brother and snorted a laugh. “You really have to do this?”

“Shut up,” Sam growled.

“I can guess that one. So…” Dean snapped the book closed and tossed it on the table, studiously not looking at his little brother lest the laugh he was trying to hold in break free. “You have to lick a brick to get your power of speech back.” He had to turn his back on his brother and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“I am going to shave you bald in your sleep, Dean,” Sam threatened.

Dean burst out laughing and backed away with his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t make the rules. Oh, man. This is too good.”

“I hope you touch it.” Sam glared at his brother.

Dean pulled a pair of heavy work gloves out of his back pocket and held them up. “Figured I probably shouldn’t touch the thing, huh?”

“Dammit,” Sam groaned.

Dean laughed. “Knew you were hopin’ I’d grab the thing too. Suck it, Sammy.” He pulled the gloves on and laughed again. “Or lick it, I guess.”

“Oh my, God. I hate you. Come on.” Sam rolled his eyes and stalked past his brother. “We need to find the damn thing already.”

“Can’t believe we’re chasing a flying, golden brick with teeth.” Dean chuckled. “Only us.” He pulled his sword off the table and tossed Sam’s jacket to him, hitting him in the back of the head. “Use that to grab it when I knock it down.”

Sam pulled the jacket over his shoulder with a snarl. “Should go get your leather jacket and use that just to piss you off.”

“Oh, I hid my leather.” Dean grinned when Sam stared at him in surprise. “Dude, I know how you think. Stop whinin’ and get movin’. Sooner we find this thing the better before it finds a way out of here or something.”

“Ok, that would be bad.” Sam followed Dean down the hall and tried not to think about the panic the cursed object could cause if it affected more people the way it had Sam. It would be a nightmare.

Dean jogged down the stairs to the lower level with Sam at his back and stopped at the bottom. “Ok, you stay here and nab ugly if it comes flyin’ back this way.” Sam nodded for him and Dean smiled. He turned away and started down the hall, holding the sword out in front of him like a bat.

The hall was quiet as Dean paced along it. He took a last glance at his brother before he turned a corner and stopped to listen. A rustling sounded from further down the hall and Dean grinned, tightening his grip on the sword. “Gotcha. Come to daddy, you little bastard.”

Dean stalked silently down the hall toward the sound and realized it was coming from the gun range. He stopped at the top of the stairs leading down and listened. He could still hear the thing, the soft clinking, fluttering noises coming up the stairs and rolled his shoulders out. He started down the stairs and fell back on them as the creature suddenly zoomed into the stairwell.

“Shit!” Dean swung up with the sword and hit the creature, knocking it sideways into the wall. It dropped and banged into the stairs with a clatter before righting itself and flying up again. “No, you don’t!” Dean took another swing and had to duck a swipe of claws as they passed through the air where his head had been. The last thing they needed was for both of them to be unable to communicate. He charged up the stairs, chasing the golden creature and fell back a step when Sam’s jacket suddenly flew into the stairs and wrapped around the creature; bringing it to the stairs with a solid thump.

Dean grinned. “Nice timing, Sammy.”

“Heard you yelling like a little girl,” Sam said. He grinned and shrugged when Dean looked curiously at him, unable to understand him.

“Uh huh.” Dean narrowed his eyes and walked up to the struggling mound of his brother’s jacket. “You know your face gives you away when you’re talkin’ crap.”

Sam laughed and knelt down next to the jacket. He took hold of it and sighed. “How are we gonna do this?”

Dean set the sword down and slapped his hands over the struggling construct under the jacket. He wrapped his hands around the hard metal he could feel under the fabric and took a firm hold. “Ok, Sammy. Pucker up.” Dean chuckled and pulled the bundle up. The jacket fell back from the body of the brick with Dean’s hands wrapped firmly around it.

Sam glared at him for the comment and looked at the thing. The gold flashed in the overhead lights. Unnatural legs tipped with claws scrabbled at the air for freedom and the wings were scrunched up under Dean’s hands and the jacket, preventing it from escaping. He groaned and leaned forward. “Can’t believe I have to do this.”

“Would you lick it already?” Dean said and then started to laugh as Sam leaned forward. “Ok, that sounded wrong. Come on, dude.”

“Shut. Up.” Sam snarled and caught hold of the creature’s legs with his hands. He held it tightly and leaned in, feeling the brush of air from the claws near his face and flinched away. Sam looked at the gold bar, gleaming at him and darted his head in to lick along the metal. He reared back with the metallic taste on his tongue and wiped a hand over his mouth. “Yech. That tasted like ass.”

“Yahtzee!” Dean slammed the gold creature into the stair and rolled it safely into the jacket. “You’re talkin’ like a normal person again!” He snorted. “There goes my quiet night in.”

“You’re an ass!” Sam slapped his brother’s shoulder and rocked back on his heels with relief. He grinned. “You really can understand me now, right?”

“Every geeky word, little brother.” Dean chuckled and stood with his burden. “Hey, grab my sword and let’s go chuck this thing back in its box.”

Sam let Dean pass him and picked up the sword. He followed quickly after him and couldn’t stop the smile from creasing his face. “It’s good to be talking sense again.”

Dean snorted and turned down the hall toward the curse box room. “Well, as much sense as you ever get up to anyway.”

“Keep teasing me and I’m gonna chuck that thing in your room some morning,” Sam threatened him with a laugh. “See what kind of nonsense comes out of _your_ mouth, more than normal.”

“And spend the rest of your life checkin’ the shampoo for Nair? I don’t think so. You’re not that stupid.” Dean grinned and kicked open the room door. “Get the box open, baldy.”

Sam went to the table and pushed the repaired curse box open. He held onto it to steady the thing and nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Right.” Dean took hold of the folds of the jacket and upended the golden brick into the box.

Sam slammed the lid shut and put his weight on it when the box jumped on the table. There were several loud knocks and thumps and finally it went quiet. He slumped in relief and smiled. “Glad that’s over.”

Dean pushed home the lock on the front of the box with a satisfied thump. “Ok. Now can we eat dinner before you find anymore crap to get up to in here?” He gave Sam a shove toward the door. “Better yet, you don’t go through these damn things again without me here just in case.”

Sam laughed out into the hall. “The last time I tried to get you to help me, you found a vintage copy of Busty Asian Beauties and vanished.”

Dean shrugged, smiled innocently for his brother and headed for the stairs. “What can I say, Sammy? I enjoy reading the classics.”

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_The End._

**A/N:** I realized right at the end of this that I missed the initial injury for Sam as a reason to be in the bunker. LOL Hope you enjoyed this anyway!

**Next Up: emebalia**


	36. For emebalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For emebalia - Remember when in 7x09 "How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters" Bobby and the boys mentioned Bambi?  
> So this is my prompt: Weechesters and Bobby watching Bambi for the first time. Go as fluffy as you want.
> 
> A/N: The boys will be 9 and 13 here. :D Seem like good ages for this. One fluffy Bambi-watching-Winchesters piece coming up.

**Reviews are love. :D  
All chapters of the Reader’s Special and Rewards are beta’d by the always awesome JaniceC678.**

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Sam huddled up against his brother in the chilly, afternoon air as they watched the Impala drive away and shivered. “Cold, Dean.”

Bobby looked down and smiled as Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother and pulled him in tight to warm him. “Come on you rug rats. Plenty warm in the house.” He ruffled Dean’s short hair and turned them through the door. He sighed and looked over his shoulder to watch John and the black Impala stream out of sight. There was no telling how long the boys were going to be left with him this time. John had simply shrugged and said it would take as long as it takes. Bobby was only thankful the man wasn’t dragging his two sons up into the mountains to chase after a wendigo at their age. “You boys hungry?”

Dean nodded and looked up at Bobby. “Yeah. Dad didn’t wanna stop before. Said we was makin’ good time.”

“Dean gave me his granola bar,” Sam informed Bobby seriously. “Uncle Bobby, he’s gotta be real hungry.”

“Well, can’t have that.” Bobby grinned, touched as always by Dean’s selflessness when it came to his brother. “Get yer’ coats off and get a seat in the kitchen. I’ll get some sandwiches together. Got those chips you like too, Sammy.”

Sam smiled and pulled away from Dean to start pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his threadbare coat while Dean let their bags drop off his shoulder to the floor of the hall. “Thanks, Uncle Bobby!”

Bobby turned away with a warm smile and went into the kitchen to grab the fixings for sandwiches. He listened to the boys banter, to Dean needling his little brother as he should. He turned when he heard Sam screech a laugh and found Dean had his little brother over a shoulder tickling his ribs mercilessly. He chuckled. “Alright, you two. Settle down and get in here.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean grinned and set his squirmy little brother’s feet back on the floor with a thump. “Come on, midget.”

“Not a midget,” Sam said and gave Dean a shove before running into the kitchen ahead of him.

Bobby chuckled and poured out a bowl of chips while Sam scrambled up into a chair. The kid was small for his age and he knew it worried his father but Bobby smirked. He had a feeling Sam was gonna surprise them all one day and outgrow his big brother, if for no other reason than just to be obstinate. “Here you go.” He set the bowl on the table and grinned when Sam dragged it away from Dean with a sly grin. “What do you two grubs wanna do today?”

“Pain in my ass, Sammy,” Dean growled and made another grab for the bowl. He heard Bobby clear his throat at that and looked up with a smirk. “Uh… I mean… pain in my butt, sir.”

“Uh huh.” Bobby laughed and shook his head fondly.

Sam relented and moved the bowl of chips back where his brother could reach them and took a handful for himself. He shoved them in his mouth and looked up at Bobby. “We got a moofie.”

“Little less talkin’ with your mouth full, kiddo.” Bobby rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Try that again.”

Sam chewed furiously while Dean snickered at him and swallowed. “We got a movie.” He smiled and then giggled when Bobby reached down to brush crumbs off his chin for him. “Dad lem’me get one when we stopped!”

“That right?” Bobby went back to making sandwiches and shrugged. “Guess we’re watchin’ a movie then.”

Dean ducked the potato chip his little brother threw at him and rolled his eyes. “It’s a stupid cartoon.”

“Is not stupid,” Sam protested and kicked his brother under the table.

“Whatever, it’s like talkin’ animals and shi… stuff.” Dean hastily corrected himself and smiled innocently when Bobby turned a look at him.

“It’s Bambi!” Sam told Bobby with a smile.

Bobby’s brows went up. “I remember that one. You might like it, Dean.”

Dean shrugged and took another handful of chips. “The squirt wants ta’ watch it, I’ll watch it.”

“Uncle Bobby, can we eat sammiches and watch the movie?” Sam asked with big, pleading eyes and all the sincerity of a nine year old who knew he couldn’t be resisted.

Bobby snorted a laugh and ruffled a hand through Sam’s hair. “Yeah, kid. Go on and get your movie.”

Dean grabbed the bowl of chips while Sam darted off to the hall and shook his head. “Geez, Uncle Bobby. Even Dad manages to hold out longer than that.”

“Shuddup.” Bobby cuffed the back of Dean’s head with a grin. “Take the chips in there.”

Dean chuckled and followed his little brother into the living room. “You find your movie?”

Sam nodded happily and held up the VHS box. He hopped up onto the couch and swung his legs, then held out his arms for the bowl of chips. “Gimme.”

“Forget it.” Dean sat beside him and held the bowl away. “You’ll eat ‘em all before the movie even starts.”

“Will not.” Sam frowned and tried to decide if he could wrestle his brother for the chips without them spilling all over the floor. After a moment of consideration he blew out a breath and thumped back into the couch in defeat. “Fine. But only ‘cause I don’t wanna spill ‘em on the floor.”

Dean grinned and sat back. “Smart kid.” He moved the bowl of chips over where Sam could reach it and smirked; he’d held out longer than Bobby.

“Thanks, Dea.” Sam smushed himself up against his brother’s side and took a handful of chips.

“Alright, you two.” Bobby went to the couch and handed off two plates with overstuffed sandwiches and two cans of pop. “Let’s have it, buddy.” He took the movie from Sam and tried not to smile stupidly at the image they made curled up on his couch together. It was hard. They were damn adorable, and he’d say so if he didn’t know Dean would put something nasty in his bed for it. He put the movie in and flicked on the television and smiled when Sam’s bright eyes latched on to the screen.

Bobby shook his head fondly and went back out to the kitchen. He put a pot on the stove and grabbed ingredients out of the refrigerator. He’d just get lunch going while the boys were watching their movie. He quickly tossed together a chili and added in the deer meat from his fridge with a smirk, deciding he maybe wouldn’t tell the boys what they were eating given the movie they were watching. He stirred the mixture up with a soft chuckle and listened to the movie. He heard Bambi and then it suddenly dawned on him what those boys were going to see a moment too late. His brain took too long to draw the parallel and he heard twin gasps from the living room as Bambi’s mother was shot and killed in the most heartbreaking scene ever written for a kids’ movie. “Oh, balls!”

“Boys?” Bobby dashed back into the living room and found Dean with his brother’s dark, shaggy head under his chin and his arms wrapped tight around him. Sam was shaking and had sad, wet eyes turned to the television screen.

Dean shook his head once with his eyes glued to the screen. “Why would they…” his voice trailed off and he tightened his arms around his little brother.

Bobby moved in and sat beside them. He wrapped an arm over Dean’s shoulders and pulled the boy in to his side. “I should have remembered. You two alright?”

Sam sniffed and blinked, holding on to his brother’s arms around him. “Uncle Bobby, how come his momma had to die like that?”

Bobby blew out a breath and carded his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I don’t know, son.”

“It ain’t fair,” Dean said quietly. He blinked furiously to stop the tears that wanted to fall. He felt stupid for how much the scene had affected him, but it had and he’d easily wrapped up his little brother when Sam had crawled into his lap.

“I know it ain’t.” Bobby held both of his boys while the movie went on. “It gets better… the movie. Promise.” He inwardly kicked himself for not thinking about what happened in the beginning of the film… and what had happened to them. He’d have found some excuse for them not to watch it if he’d remembered. He could feel the tightness across Dean’s shoulders under his hand that said the boy was just as upset as his little brother. “Or we can go do somethin’ else.”

Dean shook his head. “Not unless Sammy wants to. You wanna?”

Sam shook his own head and shifted so his legs were across Bobby’s lap while his brother held him. He watched the screen and the rabbit that was laughing at Bambi now. “Nope. S’ok. I wanna watch the rest.” He gave a small shrug. “Just wish he could’a kept his momma.”

Bobby dropped an arm over Sam’s legs and nodded. “I know. Me too.” He forgot about the chili and sat with his boys while they watched the rest of the movie. They laughed and the melancholy seemed to pass, but Dean didn’t let his brother go, keeping his arms around him like he needed to hold on to him. By the time the credits rolled, both boys were smiling and Bobby didn’t mind that his legs had gone to sleep with them weighing him down.

“I guess that was alright,” Dean said finally. “For a kid’s movie.”

Bobby smiled and looked down at them. He rubbed his knuckles through Sam’s hair again. “How ‘bout you, Sammy?”

“It was good.” Sam pushed up out of Dean’s arms and then turned around, throwing his own around his big brother’s neck.

Dean grunted and chuckled as they both toppled into Bobby’s lap. “What’s that for, squirt?”

Sam smiled and let him go. “Nothin’. M’hungry again.”

Bobby chuckled. “Well, alright then. Chili should be about done.” He was most definitely not going to tell them what sort of meat was in the chili after that. “Ya’ll wanna stop puttin’ my legs to sleep and we can go eat.”

Dean grinned and sat up, dragging Sam with him. He dug his fingers under his brother’s arms until Sam was squealing a laugh and squirming to get away.

“Knock it off, Dea!” Sam rolled off the couch with a thump and grinned breathlessly. “Jerk.” He took off through the living room and into the hall at a run when Dean glared at him.

“Scuse me, Uncle Bobby. Gotta go kick Sammy’s a… butt.” Dean grinned and tore off after his laughing brother.

Bobby leaned back in the couch and ran a hand through his hair under his hat, mostly in relief that the boys had bounced back from what could have been a damn disturbing moment. He listened to the thundering of their feet and Sam’s infectious laughter and grinned as they went up the stairs and the pounding went over his head. He snorted a laugh. “Idjits.” Bobby stood and went to the bottom of the stairs. “Boys!”

Dean reappeared at the top of the stairs with Sam tossed over one shoulder and kicking his legs in the air. “Yes, sir?”

Bobby chuckled. “Get down here and eat already. You can beat your brother later.”

Dean grinned and set his brother down. “You hear him, Sammy. I get to beat ya’ later.”

Sam snorted and started down the stairs. “Only if you can catch me.”

Dean wrapped an arm around his brother’s neck and rubbed his knuckles into the top of his head. “Those little midget legs’ll never outrun me.”

Sam ducked out of his brother’s grip with a laugh and ran behind Bobby. “Will too! You watch! I’m gonna be taller than you someday!”

“Ha!” Dean laughed and made a grab for his brother. “Keep dreamin’, short stuff.”

“Alright, you two.” Bobby turned and grabbed Sam, dangling him under one arm so the boy laughed. “Food, and then you can show your big brother how fast you are.” He set Sam down in the kitchen and went to check his chili, bubbling away in the pot and gave it a stir while his boys sat down at the table. He was absolutely not going to tell them what was in it; maybe tomorrow when he took them out into the woods for some tracking lessons.

Dean rolled his eyes when Sam leaned into his shoulder but he slid an arm around him. “You really like the movie, Sammy?”

Sam nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Deer are pretty cool, huh?”

“Guess so.” Dean held on to his brother and smiled, watching Bobby ladle out steaming bowls of his chili. “Bambi’s dad was pretty badass anyway.”

Sam nodded. “Thumper was kinda like his big brother.” He chuckled and poked Dean in the side. “Thumper.”

“Don’t even, Sammy,” Dean warned. “I will tickle you ‘til you can’t breathe!”

Bobby barely resisted the urge to burst out laughing as he turned around, having heard the conversation. He set the bowls on the table and pushed them over. “There you go, boys.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean grabbed his spoon and took a healthy bite, smiling appreciatively at the spicy flavor.

“You’re welcome…” Bobby took a step back and had to grin. “… Thumper.”

“Hey!” Dean glared and his little brother howled with laughter beside him. “Not cool, Uncle Bobby. Not cool!”

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_The End._

**Next Up:** Klutzygirl33


	37. For Klutzygirl33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Klutzygirl33 - In season eight, Sam is kidnapped and dosed with demon blood. Because of the trials, the situation is only exacerbated. When Dean finds him, he stays with him during withdrawal.
> 
> A/N: Set this one after 8x17 “Goodbye Stranger”. I started this one before I left to take care of my mom and then didn't touch it for two solid months. Hopefully, the story didn't suffer for that. I think it's turned out well and I hope will be what you were looking for, Klutzygirl33. Sorry for the wait but... mom. :D

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Sam groaned and lifted his head as he heard footsteps approaching. Pretending to be unconscious wouldn’t get him any reprieve; he’d already learned that the hard way. He looked wearily around the room and closed his eyes as the footsteps stopped outside the door. He had no idea how long he’d been tied to that chair in that room but it had been a while \-- long enough for him to start doubting his brother would ever be able to find him. He pulled his head up higher and attempted to sit up straight, unwilling to show any weakness. The door opened with a creak of rusted hinges and the face Sam had learned to despise appeared with a cheerful smile; Wilfred.

“Mornin’, Sam.” Wilfred walked in and stood over his captive, taking in the sight of the bloody, beaten man. “Don’t suppose you’re feeling cooperative today?”

In answer, Sam spit at his feet and smiled. “Suck it, Wilf. You’re a shit Hunter. You know that, right?”

“Still alive, ain’t I? Can’t be that bad.” Wilfred chuckled and waved Barry into the room behind him. “Guess we’re doin’ it the hard way again.”

Sam groaned softly and clamped his mouth closed. A part of him - the child in him that still believed his big brother could solve every problem in the known universe - was still waiting for Dean to bust in that door at any moment. He couldn’t help letting his eyes drift up hopefully to the door for just a moment before he closed them with a disgusted snort.

“You find somethin’ funny in all this, Sam?” Wilfred asked as he came back to Sam and stood next to him, looking down at his bowed head.

“Your face?” Sam fired back irreverently and wasn’t surprised when a fist slammed into his jaw a moment later. He nodded with a sort of giddy laugh. “Deserved that one.”

“You deserve any damn thing I decide to dish out, asshole.” Wilfred kicked Sam viciously in the thigh just to hear him gasp and then pulled his head up by a fistful of hair until Sam was looking wearily up at him. “See, you may have pulled off some damn miracle to stop the apocalypse, but that don’t wipe the slate of all the people who died before that. You got a lot of souls to answer for, Winchester, and I figure you should be thankin’ me for givin’ you a way to atone here.”

Sam outright laughed at that. “Right. Thanks for kidnapping me, beating me, stabbing me a few times, and, hey, thanks for force-feeding me demon blood. Wait, on second thought. No. Fuck off.”

Wilfred nodded, used to Sam’s smart mouth, and held the vial of blood up where Sam could see it. “Gonna get you good and hopped up, son.” He gave Sam’s head a violent shake with his hair. “Then I’m gonna take you for some fun and you’re gonna kill some demons. Gonna put your ass to good use, and maybe I won’t even kill you when I’m done.”

“Go to hell,” Sam gasped and jerked his head free of Wilfred’s grip, feeling hair tear loose painfully as he did.

Wilfred chuckled. “You first.”

“Already been,” Sam said and turned a bloody smile up to him. “Got bored and came back.” He grunted as Wilfred’s fist slammed into his head again and knocked it sideways.

“Better start keeping that smart mouth to yourself.” Wilfred nodded to his partner. “Brian, get over here and don’t let him bite your damn fingers this time, idiot.”

“Shuddup.” Brian walked over and delivered a bad-tempered kick to Sam’s knee, making the man yelp in pain before he grabbed his face in both hands and pried Sam’s mouth open. He carefully kept his fingers away from the teeth that had already caught him once. “Behave, asshole.”

Wilfred leaned over Sam’s face and ignored the wide eyes that stared angrily up at him. He tipped the vial and poured blood into Sam’s open mouth. Once it was empty, he grabbed the man’s chin and slammed his mouth closed, pinching off his nose at the same time. “Hold him still, dammit!” He and Brian fought the furious jerks of Sam’s head and held his mouth and nose closed. “Swallow it and you can breathe.” Wilfred chuckled. “Or don’t and you can pass out and swallow it anyway. Your choice.”

Sam jerked in the chair, feeling the ropes bite into his arms and wrists but there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t breathe through the bruising grip the men had on his face. His lungs burned for air while the blood filled his mouth and made him want to gag. Spots began to swim across his vision and he swallowed out of sheer reflex, unable to stop it, and felt the viscous blood all the way down his throat into his stomach.

“There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Wilfred stepped back and released Sam’s face with a laugh.

Sam gasped and coughed and wished he could throw it back up. He wheezed for air, caught his breath, and glared up at the man. “You’re gonna die.”

Wilfred snorted a laugh and slapped Sam’s wounded shoulder, the one he’d driven a knife into earlier. “Don’t seem likely, boy. Seems to me like you’re gonna be the one with a damn short lifespan, now, don’t it?”

Sam shook his head with a soft laugh and closed his eyes while the demon blood began to burn through him again like fire. “Don’t know my brother. Dean… he’s gonna kill you.” Sam looked up at him again. “You should run.”

“Dean ain’t likely to see your happy ass again, Sam.” Wilfred shrugged and picked up another bottle of blood as he went back to him. “Can you O.D. on this stuff? Ever figure that out?” He laughed and nodded to Sam. “Cause you ain’t lookin’ so good anymore.”

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes again. The demon blood was still burning into him. He could almost feel it rushing along his veins, poisoning him, and at the same time there was something else, some other sensation that felt like it was battling the demon blood, and it made him squirm uncomfortably in the ropes as his chest tightened.

“How much more of this we got?” Wilfred asked and waved a hand at the two bottles still on the table.

Brian shrugged and grabbed hold of Sam’s head. “Probably get a couple more pints outta that demon bitch. She ain’t got much left now.” He grinned. “Good thing they can’t just die, huh?”

“Good. We’ll drain her after this and exorcise her back to hell before she wakes up all pissed.” Wilfred waggled the bottle of blood in front of Sam’s face. “You cravin’ this yet, boy? Bet pretty soon you ain’t even gonna fight me on it anymore. You’ll just start askin’ for it, won’t ya?”

“Never,” Sam said angrily and tried to jerk his head out of Brian’s grip.

“Oh, I think you will. I know a junkie when I see one.” Wilfred laughed and held the bottle over Sam’s mouth as Brian forced it open. “Don’t matter how long it’s been since you had a hit. Your body don’t never stop wantin’ it. Open up. Got just what you need here.”

Sam thrashed in his bonds, but Brian’s grip on his jaw was like iron and he knew he’d have the man’s fingers bruised into his face for days afterward, assuming he lived that long. The blood flowed in over his lips and he slammed his eyes closed, trying to wrench his face away to no avail. As before, Wilfred held his mouth and nose closed until Sam had no choice but to swallow. He didn’t know how much of the stuff was in his system now, but he knew it couldn’t be good. He didn’t even want to think about how hard it was going to be to detox from the demon blood this time. It had been so long since he’d had to, and Sam had never thought to have to face that again.

“What’s the matter, Sam? Need another hit?” Wilfred grinned and took the last bottle from the table. “I gotcha. How you feelin’ now? Ready to go kill some demonic sons of bitches yet?” He sighed when Sam just glared at him. “I don’t see why you’re puttin’ up such a fight over this. You’ll be doin’ the world a favor killin’ those things.”

“You’re cracked.” Sam coughed and spat a gob of blood out onto the floor.

“Whatever, boy. You’re still gonna do what we want.” Wilfred took hold of Sam’s wounded shoulder and dug his fingers into the bloody fabric and the open wound beneath. “Or maybe I’ll put a few more holes in ya’ until you’re feelin’ more agreeable.”

Sam panted through the pain and refused to cry out again. “N-no.”

“You’ll do it.” Wilfred held up the bottle, waited until Brian had Sam’s mouth pried open again and dumped the contents in. He slammed his palm into Sam’s chin to close his mouth and covered his nose, watching his throat until Sam convulsively swallowed and then let go. “Go drain that thing in the other room,” he ordered Brian while Sam gasped for breath and took out a small knife as he left. “I think you just need a little more persuasion.”

“Asshole,” Sam gasped and coughed and closed his eyes as the blood burned through him more strongly. He hated the feeling of power it gave him and was sickened that his body would betray him like that after so long spent fighting the need to ever want it again. He jerked at a sudden, sharp pain and cried out as the familiar blade dug into the back of his shoulder.

“You know what I think?” Wilfred asked and pulled the knife away. He tugged the back of Sam’s bloody shirt down and put the point of the blade at the back of his shoulder blade. “I think once I get you in front of a bunch of demons, you won’t be able to help yourself.” He sliced the blade slowly in a line across the back of Sam’s shoulder and smiled at the frantic, heaving breaths the man was taking in an effort to not cry out. “You’re gonna kill those demons for me and we’re gonna juice you up again and do it some more. I bet you even stop complainin’ about it after that.”

“No… no way.” Sam gasped and slumped in his bonds as the knife left his skin again. He could feel blood flowing down his back under his shirt. He was light-headed with blood loss and pain and at the same time, coasting on the sickening high from the demon blood. He shook his head miserably. “Die first. Let ‘em… let ‘em kill me… and you.” Sam grinned. “Hope you die… die screaming.”

“Wrong answer, Sam.” Wilfred wrapped an arm around his neck from behind and squeezed until Sam’s head thumped back into his chest as he strained for air. He smiled down at Sam and tightened his grip until only the barest trickle of air was wheezing past Sam’s lips. “Time I’m done with you, you’re gonna be beggin’ me to do whatever I say.”

Sam could do nothing but stare up at Wilfred’s face as spots began to crowd his vision. His lungs strained for oxygen, chest straining while the man’s arm crushed mercilessly into his throat. The world started to tunnel into black, and Sam didn’t even flinch when there was a loud bang in the room with them. Wilfred’s arm left his neck, and Sam sagged forward, coughing and gasping for breath desperately, and it was several long moments before he realized there were voices shouting and one of them was his brother’s. “D… Dean?” he whispered hoarsely in disbelief and raised his head just enough to see his big brother in the door across from him, gun raised and a look of naked fury on his face.

“Get the hell away from him!” Dean shouted and took a few steps into the room with his gun trained on Wilfred’s head. “Now!” He couldn’t afford to look at Sam and see the state he was in just then or he was liable to simply pull the trigger. His one quick glance while assessing the situation in the room had been enough to nearly push him over the edge.

“Dean.” Wilfred raised his hands but kept his place at Sam’s back. “Look, you know your brother’s got some skills we can use. I was just trying to persuade him.” He smiled. “Give me another day with him and he’ll come around. You’ll see.”

Dean rolled the tension out of his neck, shook his head once, and fired. The bullet tore through Wilfred’s shoulder and sent him to the floor with a guttural cry. “No one screws with my brother, you son of a bitch.” He put his gun up and went to his brother. “Sammy?” Now that he could look, what he saw turned his blood cold. Sam was covered in bruises. His face was black and blue, lip split, blood staining his teeth, and his left shoulder was a mess of dried and fresh blood in the remains of his t-shirt. “Jesus, Sammy. What’d they do to you? Hey. Hey.” Dean took Sam’s face in his hands and propped it up. “Look at me, buddy.” He grimaced at the bruises ringing Sam’s neck and turned a quick glare to Wilfred where he still writhed on the floor.

“Dean?” Sam met his brother’s concerned green eyes and felt tears well in his own. “S’really you?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I gotcha.” Dean managed a smile for him and slid a hand down to squeeze his neck gently in comfort. “Have you outta here in a minute.”

Sam let his head fall forward in relief. “Took you so long?” he said in a hoarse voice and managed a small smile for Dean’s snort of laughter.

“Stopped for pie on the way.” Dean glanced up at his brother and then bent back to cut the ropes from his legs. Inside, he was still quaking with the helplessness he’d felt searching for any trace of Sam for four days. He was going to have a few choice words for Castiel the next time he saw him, as well, since the angel had failed to answer any of Dean’s calls or prayers. It was sheer chance that had led him to Sam \-- seeing a man dragging an unconscious woman out of a devil’s trap. Dean had followed the beat-up truck on a hunch and it had led him here.

“There’s…” Sam stopped and coughed to clear his aching throat. “… another one… somewhere.”

“I got him, Sammy,” Dean reassured him and sliced the rope from his brother’s wrists and arms. “Even exorcised the demon they had trussed up for what it’s worth.” The woman hadn’t survived the exorcism. Once the demon had left, there hadn’t been enough blood left in her body to keep her alive, but he figured that was better in the long run.

“Dean.” Sam raised his head again and met his brother’s concerned eyes. “They were… they fed me demon blood. I tried not to… I swear. God, Dean, I swear I didn’t want to…”

“Hey. Hey, don’t worry about it, alright?” Dean took hold of his brother’s neck again and smiled for him. He’d seen the tubes and bottles filled with the demon’s blood, and it had been easy to figure out what they were up to and what it meant for Sam. “It’s not your fault, buddy. I’m not mad at you. This wasn’t your fault and we’ll deal with it. You’re gonna be ok.” He pulled one of Sam’s arms over his shoulders and lifted him out of the chair. “Get you patched up back at the motel. We’re on the clock here. Some good Samaritan made an anonymous call to the cops a few minutes ago.”

Sam smiled and glanced back at Wilfred on the floor where Dean had left him. He hoped the bastard spent a good, long time in prison once the police found the bloody mess surrounding him. Sam put his concentration on staying upright as they walked unevenly from the room. “Not…not the motel. Bunker.” He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. “Motel’s not secure enough. Not for… not for me. S’gonna be bad.”

Dean nodded and kept them moving, kept Sam on his feet even when his ginormous brother’s legs tried to give out repeatedly. “Ok, we can do that, but I’m patchin’ you up first.” He glanced over at Sam’s face and smiled. “You’re not bleedin’ all over my seats.” He smiled more widely when Sam managed a soft chuckle and made sure his little brother didn’t get a look into the other room and the mess his captors had left in there with the demon. Sam’s conscience didn’t need to see that and know the demon’s meat suit had suffered like that so they could force feed him blood. He knew his brother and his overactive sense of guilt. “Get you home in no time. You just hold on for me, little brother.”

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Sam leaned heavily on his brother as Dean led him down the hall to the hidden room in the Men of Letters bunker. His big brother had left him sitting in the library for a bit while he 'got it ready,' and Sam had fought the twitches in his muscles and the burning in his blood that were beginning to make him want to shout in pain and frustration. “Dean,” he said in a hoarse voice as his balance wavered and his stomach clenched with pain.

“Easy. I gotcha. Almost there,” Dean soothed and hitched Sam's arm higher on his shoulders as they walked. “How's your shoulder feelin'?”

“Like hell,” Sam confessed with a rueful smile.

“That asshole did a number on it. Ok, here we go.” Dean turned Sam into the hidden room and smirked when his brother stared at the twin bed in its center and beside it was a table with bottles of water. “Not gonna be long enough for those flamingo legs of yours but it'll beat sitting in a chair for however long this takes.”

Sam sniffed and nodded, tightening his arm briefly around his brother's shoulders in thanks. He felt another wave of heat roll through him and the smile fell away. “You should hurry. Get out of here.”

Dean eased Sam down to the bed to sit and pushed him back slowly. “Shut up and lay down.” He tugged one Sam's arms up to the corner of the bed and picked up the manacle he'd tethered there. “Padded these, so you should be pretty comfortable. You know, as comfortable as you can be. Keep you from hurting yourself.”

Sam could see the misery in Dean's eyes at having to lock him down again and managed a small smile, carefully raising his wounded arm up. His shoulder burned with the movement, but he swallowed it back. “It's great, Dean. Thanks.”

Dean swallowed and clamped the second manacle around his brother's wrist, making sure the padding inside the cuffs was secure. He moved down and let Sam work himself up the bed until he could restrain his ankles as well, as comfortably as Sam's long frame would allow on the bed. Dean straightened, sighed, and then dropped to sit on the side of the bed.

“Dean, go.” Sam closed his eyes, waiting for his brother to leave him alone and hear the clang of the door.

“No.”

Sam's eyes flew open again and he stared up, confused. “Dean, you know how bad this gets. Go.”

“Not this time, dammit.” Dean shook his head and crossed his arms, before looking away. “I can't do it again, Sammy. I can't... listen to you in here all alone. Not again. Whatever happens, I'm gonna be here, so deal with it.”

“Dean...”

“Nope. Made my mind up, little brother.” Dean smiled and shrugged. “So you may as well shut up.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue again, saw the obstinate look on Dean's face and then blew out an aggrieved breath. “Jerk.”

Dean grinned and chuckled. “Bitch.”

Sam closed his eyes again rather than let Dean see the storm of emotion there. He was overcome with a wave of gratitude that this time he wouldn't have to weather the storm of memories and hallucinations and wracking pain on his own.

“Hey, take a breath.” Dean put a hand on Sam's good shoulder when he heard him wheezing. “Easy, buddy.”

Sam nodded, not opening his eyes, and worked to slow the short breaths punching out of him. He hadn't noticed as the pain ramped up to new levels. “S'gonna get bad,” Sam muttered.

“I know.” Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Don't worry about it. I got this.”

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Dean wiped a hand down his face and looked over his shoulder at his brother. Sam had been relatively calm for the last few hours. He was breathing like a long distance runner and his face was screwed up with pain, but he wasn't screaming and Dean would take that as a win for now. He glanced at his watch and sighed. They'd been down there for ten hours \-- ten long damn hours \-- and he had trouble accepting that he had ever left Sam alone through this once, never mind twice. There were a dozen times that his voice alone had been enough to bring Sam out of the nightmares attacking him, times that his touch on his neck had made Sam open his eyes and blink and realize where he was and that he was not alone, trapped in some private hell. He'd watched the terror fade from Sam's eyes in those moments to be replaced by profound gratitude and hated himself a little more each time that he'd ever listened to Cas and left his brother to detox alone.

“Sam?” Dean said softly and moved stiffly, rising from his position on the cold stone floor to sit next to Sam again. He heard his brother's voice whispering softly, raggedly, and he leaned down near his face to hear him. Dean scowled. Sam wasn't speaking English. He put his ear closer to Sam's mouth and really listened. At first, he thought it was Latin and was about to chuckle that the dead language was so ingrained in Sam that he could speak it while barely conscious, when he realized it wasn't. It was Enochian. Sam was murmuring in Enochian as easily as Dean spoke English and he leaned back.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean took hold of his brother's neck, squeezing his hand around the side. “Sammy, where the hell did you learn...” His voice trailed off in stunned horror. There was only one place Sam could have learned to speak the ancient language of the angels so fluently; the cage. Two hundred years in a cage with two pissed off angels, he had to have learned it there. He watched Sam's face and knew whatever was going through his head wasn't good. Sam's face showed nothing but fear. He was terrified and as Dean listened to his voice, though he couldn't understand the words, he understood the tone; Sam was pleading. Begging... over and over, and it broke Dean’s heart to hear it. He well and truly knew what it was like to plead in vain for mercy in hell, but thinking of Sam going through that torment and probably worse tore at his very soul.

“God, Sammy. Sam!” Dean grabbed Sam's good shoulder and gave him a shake. “Sam, snap out of it! You're not there!” He raised his voice, shouting down at him. Sam only began to shake, to tremble in the bed hard enough to shake it and began to shake his head as he muttered the ancient words.

“Dammit, Sam. I'm here! I'm right here!” Dean yelled when he heard his brother say his name amidst the stream of Enochian, pushing aside the guilt that washed over him knowing his little brother had been calling out to him during the endless torment in the cage and that all Sam knew was that he had never answered. “Come on.” He cupped a hand around the side of his brother's sweaty face and did his own begging. “Sammy, I'm right here. All you gotta do is open your eyes. Come on. Open your eyes. Just look up at me. Look!” Sam shook his head again, clearly believing that this time, his big brother's voice was simply a part of whatever nightmare he was reliving.

“Dammit.” Dean leaned back in frustration as Sam's voice rose in volume and panic. His arms were twisting in the restraints, and, even with the padding, Dean knew there would be friction burns there, not to mention the risk of him tearing the stitches Dean had put in the back of his shoulder. In sudden inspiration, Dean leaned up and grabbed hold of Sam's left hand. He pressed his thumb into the barely visible, healed scar in the palm. “Come on. Stone number one, Sammy. Remember? I'm still here. Right here. Open your eyes.”

Dean pressed harder, but it did nothing to break through Sam's delirious state. “Shit. Ok. You'll thank me for this later.” In desperation, Dean pulled the little knife from the back of his belt. He stretched up, pulled his brother's hand open, and cut a shallow slice across it. Blood welled thick and heavy, and Dean heedlessly pressed his thumb into the open cut as hard as he could, knowing it had to hurt like hell.

Sam twitched next to him once, and then again. “That's it, buddy.” Dean said as calmly as he could while Sam's blood trickled down over his hand and onto his wrist. “Sammy.” His little brother gasped in a breath and the Enochian stuttered to a stop. Sam's eyes opened sluggishly and he looked up at Dean as though expecting a trick.

Dean smiled. “Hey, Sammy. I'm here. You're here. You're safe, remember?”

Sam stared incredulously up at his big brother while the horrors he had been reliving began to fade. He'd thought he was back in the pit. He'd thought... but Dean was smiling at him and there was a sharp, burning pain in his left hand. He craned his head for a look and saw blood and looked back to Dean. “Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean's breath whooshed out in relief and he eased his grip on Sam's palm but didn't let go. “Welcome back, Sammy.”

Sam frowned and looked blearily around the little room before meeting Dean's worried green eyes again. He swallowed thickly around a dry mouth. “Day's it?”

“Tomorrow.” Dean watched him, seeing the glaze slowly fade from Sam's eyes until it was just his brother staring back up at him.

Sam frowned more deeply and tried to raise a hand before remembering he was restrained. “Happened to your head?” he asked, staring at the red welt high on the left side of Dean's forehead.

Dean snorted. “When your freaky powers couldn't find anything else to toss around, they tossed me. Don't worry about it,” he said quickly as Sam's eyes went wide. “No harm done. The bottles of water on the other hand...” Dean waved a hand to the other side of the room where the bottles lay at the foot of the wall, cracked open and crushed in small, drying puddles. He grinned. “Upside is the Carol Ann crap stopped about four hours ago. I think you're past the worst of it now.”

Sam slumped down into the bed with exhaustion. His whole body hurt. His knee where he'd been kicked throbbed like it had been wrenched all over again and his left shoulder began to drown out the pain from his hand. Twisting his neck again, he stared blankly at the blood still welling sluggishly from the shallow cut for a moment. “Why'm'I bleeding?”

Dean sighed and gently released his brother's hand. He started unbuckling the manacle instead and carefully eased his brother's wounded shoulder back down to a normal position. “I had to. I’m sorry. You were, uh...” Dean reached up and undid the other manacle, letting Sam's right arm free and helped him lower it down to his chest. “You were dreaming. Really deep, and, uh... you were begging,” he said softly and used the excuse of freeing Sam's ankles to not meet his eyes. “In Enochian.” All the same, he felt Sam flinch.

“Right,” Sam said miserably and let his eyes fall closed. “Sorry.”

“Don't.” Dean freed his brother's legs and then sat next to him again. “Don't you apologize for any of this, Sammy. This was not your fault, you hear me?” He reached up and shoved his brother's dark hair out of his eyes until Sam looked up at him. “This wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve this or ask for it or any of that other ridiculous crap you got flyin' around in your head right now, so knock it off.”

“Sor...” Sam stopped and managed a small, rueful smile.

“Better.” Dean smiled with him. “Think you can make it upstairs if I help you?” He leaned down and sniffed. “'Cause, dude, you stink.” It had the desired effect when Sam gave a weak, soft laugh.

“Jerk.” Sam nodded and held up his right arm. “Help me up.”

Dean took his arm and slid his other behind Sam's shoulders, easing him up slowly until he was sitting and wasn't surprised when Sam curled forward to lean his head against his shoulder. “How you feelin'?”

“Hammered crap,” Sam said honestly and snorted. “Dude, you don't smell so good either.”

“Shuddup.” Dean said with a laugh and stood, careful not to topple his brother. “Ok, swing your legs off.”

Sam did and hissed with the pain of moving his left knee. “Crap.”

“Yeah, that knee's gonna be a bitch for a few days.” Dean waited until Sam was steady and then grabbed him around the chest to heave him to his feet. Sam swayed, and Dean simply held on until his brother found his legs and took his own weight.

Sam raised his head from his brother's shoulder and slid his right arm over Dean's shoulders instead. “Ok, I'm good.”

“No, but you will be,” Dean said firmly and started them moving slowly.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam looked over at his brother's face as they made their painfully slow progress out into the hall. He wasn't looking forward to the stairs, but at least there was a shower and a real bed at the end of it. “Thank you. Seriously, man. Thank you.”

Dean could easily hear the tears Sam was choking back and gave a nod. “S'what big brothers are for, Sammy.”

“Not all of them,” Sam said softly and sniffed back his grateful tears that he hadn't had to go through that nightmare alone. “Just mine.”

Dean blinked furiously against the rise of emotion and when he had control, he shook his head and smirked over at him. “You are such a girl.”

Sam smiled broadly, hearing the unspoken message under the words. “Am not.”

“You've got hair like a girl,” Dean pointed out as they reached the stairs and he took a firmer hold around Sam's waist.

“Right, and which one of us...” Sam stopped to take a deep breath after the first couple steps. “... who spends a half hour... fixing his hair... every morning?”

“Whatever, bitch.” Dean groused and tugged Sam up the next step. “I always look this good.”

Sam laughed breathlessly as they continued to climb and thought he really did have the best damn big brother in the world.

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_The End._


	38. For Shahenaaz08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For shahenaaz08 - Pre-series: Sam and John have conflicting opinions about the monster of the week. Sam wants to delay the hunt by a day so that he can research more but John is insistent to finish the hunt today. Turns out that Sam was right. Good thing that Sam came prepared (with a specific weapon or latin chant) and gets hurt while saving John and Dean. Cue guilty John and Dean."Hurt Sam/Guilty John/Guilty Dean is my favorite combo and adding you to the mix will make it perfect!
> 
> A/N: Alrighty! Sam is 14 here and Dean 18. Some hurt and comfort with a healthy dose of Winchester angst coming up! :D Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Reviews are love. :D  
> All chapters of the Reader’s Special and Rewards are beta’d by the always awesome JaniceC678.

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“Geez, Dad. Could you be more stubborn right now?” Sam rolled his eyes as he shoved his chair away from the table and pointedly ignored the angry scowl that darkened his father's face and the warning glare from his big brother.

“Sam Winchester, you reel that smart mouth in before I do it for you,” John growled angrily. He closed the book Sam had shoved at him with a thump. “We're doing this tonight.”

“But you're wrong!” Sam's voice rose again and he threw his arms out. “Why do you even bother having me do research if you aren't gonna damn well listen to what I tell you?”

“That's it.” John rose from his chair with a dark look.

“Whoa. Whoa. Ok.” Dean stepped bravely between his dad and brother, risking pissing them both off, and raised his hands. Though John had never actually hit his brother, there had been some pushing and shoving and Dean was secretly afraid that one day they'd end up coming to blows. They were each just too damn stubborn to ever back down on their own. “I think what Sam's tryin' to say here is...”

“I can speak for myself, Dean. I'm fourteen. Not four.”

“Well, you sound like you’re four right now,” Dean retorted to Sam's petulant, angry tone and instantly regretted the jibe. It was NOT the way to handle his little brother when he was angry and frustrated. He blew out a breath. “Sammy...”

“It's Sam and you're wrong, Dad!” Sam pointed a finger at the book. “You can't just shoot a mormo!”

“Iron rounds, Sam. I did my own research.” John glared his youngest down with little effect. The kid had, at the very least, definitely taken his lessons about standing your ground to heart. “You know, I was doing that for a long time before you were. Iron to the heart and it's dead.”

“No! Dammit!” Sam knew he was blowing it by losing his temper, but he was afraid they were going to be hurt if his dad didn't listen and that was the single most terrifying thought in his world \-- his dad or Dean or both of them being killed on a hunt. It stole his ability to reason, and he was positive that's what was going to happen tonight if they didn't listen to him. Realizing he wasn't going to win his father over with yelling, Sam took a deep breath and tried to rein it in. “Dad, please. Just look at the other research.”

“There's such a thing as looking too hard, Sam,” John said dismissively. His own temper was still working at a quick boil thanks to Sam. “You're still a kid and you spread your focus too wide. This is one of those things you'll learn as you get older!” He kicked the table leg.

Sam made a frustrated sound in his throat and barely resisted the urge to kick something himself, but his temper was off and running again as he yelled. “No, I won't! Because you're gonna get us all dead tonight!”

“Sam!” Dean grabbed his little brother by the arm and dragged him out of the kitchen before their dad did something they'd all regret. “Decision's made, dude, and Dad's right. Look, you're good. We know that!” Dean stared down at Sam's eyes, still a little perturbed that he no longer had to look very far down to see them; the kid was shooting up like a damn weed. “But Dad's right. He's more experienced and the lore you found isn't even for the mormo.”

“No, it's for Hecate and in ancient Greek mythology, mormo is the consort of Hec...”

“Enough, Sam!” John bellowed and strode out of the kitchen to glare at him. “We're doing this tonight! Now, you can put a lid on this and come or you can go to your room and wait for us, but I am done arguing about this.” He raised a warning hand when Sam opened his mouth. “One more word and you _will_ be staying here whether you want to or not.” He waited for a few moments while Sam silently threw daggers at him with his eyes, but his son wisely said nothing. “Get your bag. Be outside in five.”

Sam watched his father head outside and looked up at his brother. He could see frustration warring with remorse on Dean's face, but he shook his head, not in the mood. “Forget it.” He turned his back on him and stomped off toward the back of the house and the room they shared. They had both whined about the necessity of sharing a room at their ages, but Sam at least, in the privacy of his own mind where Dean couldn't tease him for it, had actually enjoyed being able to hear his brother a few feet away at night again. At that particular moment, however, the moon wouldn't have been far enough for him.

Dean ran both hands through his hair and stood miserably while both members of his family went in different directions, as usual. “Great. Just great,” he grumbled and turned to follow his father outside. “This is gonna be awesome.” He heard the bedroom door slam in the back of the house as he stepped outside and saw his father's dark glower turn up to look at him from beside his truck. “He's coming.”

John nodded stiffly and pulled open his driver's side door. “Tell him to get his damn temper under control before we get there. Last thing we need is Sam getting hurt because he's too busy being pissed at us to pay attention.”

Dean sighed as his father climbed into his truck and closed the door. “Right. Great. Maybe you could both try not being assholes to each other for five minutes instead.” He heard the door slam behind him and turned to watch his brother stalk down the stairs with his backpack over his shoulder and eyes studiously not meeting Dean's while he headed for the Impala. “Sammy.”

“Not interested, Dean.” Sam shook his head and went to the car. Not having his father listen to him was one thing. He expected that. Dean, though...that hurt. His big brother was usually the one voice of reason in his otherwise crazy life, and the fact that Dean wouldn't listen to him either made something in his chest ache. He dropped into the Impala's passenger seat, letting his bag slide to the floor between his feet and pulled the door closed. He'd just have to make sure his brother was still around for him to yell at tomorrow. And maybe have the chance to say 'I told you so' to his father. That at least made him smirk but it didn't last. It was too dangerous if he was right.

Dean groaned again to himself for the fun he wasn't going to be having that night. He sent a bad-tempered wave at the truck when their dad honked before pulling out of the cracked driveway and climbed behind the Impala's wheel. He looked over at Sam who had his face turned out the window and briefly considered giving the kid a good shake. He snorted softly and turned the car on, pulling out to follow behind their father. It wouldn't do anything for Sam, but it sure would make Dean feel better.

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John eased silently through a door into the old auditorium. It hadn't been used in decades, despite the children’s home next door. He saw his sons appear on the far side of the room and gave Dean a nod, letting his eyes slide over Sam's still unhappy face. This job had bothered him from the start when he realized how close both his boys had come on more than one occasion to ending up in a place like this; like the home he had visited the day before. There had been dozens of hopeless, young faces staring up at him accusingly and social workers pushed past the breaking point and lost beyond caring about their charges. He looked over at his sons again, at Sam's dark, bowed head and remembered the time he had been forced to break both his boys out of a well-meaning foster home and run with them in the night, all because he'd taken too long on a job and Dean had run out of money to feed them, resorting to shoplifting food for his little brother and not for the first time.

John shook his head, clearing away the useless thoughts and put his attention back on the job. It had taken close to a week to discover that a mormo, a vampiric spirit in physical form, was feeding on the orphans, and it had been Sam's attention to detail in the witness accounts that had led them to the discovery. He heard a soft snap of fingers and jerked his eyes back to Dean in recognition.

Dean waved two fingers toward the stage past the rows and rows of crumbling seats and raised a brow at his father, getting a nod in return. He sighed when his father made the signs for 'Sam' and 'stay' and gave a reluctant nod of his own.

“No way,” Sam whispered, the words a bare breath of sound that didn't carry past his brother.

Dean met his brother's fierce eyes and stared him down. “Don't argue, Sammy.” His own voice was just as low and he moved away from his little brother, pointing a stern finger at the ground. “Watch my back.”

Sam resettled his gun in his hands and wanted to kick the seats next to him while Dean moved down the aisle toward the stage and his father mirrored him in the next. He let his eyes move past them and around the vaulted roof of the theater. Strips of paper hung from the wall like vines in a jungle. The chandelier that had once graced the ceiling lay bent and smashed atop the rows of seats between him and his father, having long since crashed down from its mooring in the ceiling. The lights high above still worked, but did little to illuminate the massive room, giving just enough light to watch his family moving away from him and toward danger.

Dean reached the stage at the same moment as his father and looked up into the shadows that shrouded it before turning and hopping onto the side. He shot a glance over his shoulder and saw that Sam was where he'd left him with his gun held ready and eyes seeming to try and watch everything around them. He smiled and stood and looked around the stage again. “Well?” he said softly.

John narrowed his eyes at the back of the stage where old curtains hung in tatters, dragging along the floor with only inky blackness to be seen beyond them. “Has to be back there.”

“Are we sure this is where it's nesting?” Dean asked and somehow managed not to flinch at the glare his father sent him. “Just sayin', Dad.”

“Yes, I'm sure.” John rolled his eyes and lowered his harsh whisper. “Now both my sons think I don't know what I'm doing.”

“Dad.” Dean groaned softly and held up his left hand in a bid for peace.

Sam watched from the aisle, narrowing his eyes as he watched his father and brother have some sort of clearly not happy, whispered conversation. He couldn't hear a word from where he stood as they spoke so softly, but the stiff, angry set of his dad's shoulders told him all he needed; Dean had apparently just pissed him off as well.

“Awesome,” Sam whispered to himself. He straightened suddenly as his dad and Dean neared the tattered curtains at the back of the stage while a cold chill zinged up his spine. A feeling of dread came over him. He couldn't have said what it was or why he felt so strongly that things had just got dangerous, but he was sure. “Dean,” he whispered and took two steps toward the stage.

Dean reached his left hand out toward a swathe of curtain to pull it aside and then stopped with his fingers touching it.

“What?” John asked and watched his son curiously. “Hear something?”

Dean shook his head. “Something...” He turned and looked over his shoulder at his little brother. Sam's eyes were wide and on him, almost pleading from thirty feet away. He frowned. “Sammy?”

Sam shook his head as Dean watched him and nodded toward the back of the stage. It was his only way to tell his brother something was wrong without calling out and letting the mormo know exactly where they were, assuming it didn't already. And he had the distinct feeling that they were no longer the hunters, but the hunted.

“Dean, stop screwin' around.” John hissed at his eldest and pulled Dean's attention back to him.

“Dad, I think...” Dean never got to finish the sentence. There was a loud hiss from behind the curtains and then the heavy rod suspending them from above gave way. They fell and smothered both men to the dusty floor. Dean grunted as the rod slammed into his back and banged his forehead into the stage hard enough to send black spots dancing across his vision. He heard his father's angry roar beside him and Sam's voice raised in alarm and echoing through the theater, but for a moment, he couldn't move. Something tore at the piles of rotted fabric stifling him. Dust choked in his throat and his lungs, and then sharp pain bloomed across his back. He struggled to pull his arm and gun from underneath his stomach and heard two shots ring out and the weight was gone from his back.

John cleared his head from the curtains with a yell of rage. The rod that had held them lay across his stomach and had knocked the breath from him for a moment. The mormo stood atop Dean and sent him a steely, red glare before drawing her talon-like claws down Dean's now exposed back. “No!” John pulled his hand free and fired at the same moment he heard Sam's gun. She looked like a large, misshapen child. Long, dark hair hung in strings around her face and swinging in the air as she moved. Her skin was the white of something dead, her mouth a black maw with rotted fangs that he knew she had drained seven children with.

With a burst of inhuman speed, she avoided both shots and leaped into the air only to land on John's chest. The air punched out of him, and she wrapped those talons around his wrist to hold his gun away. She knocked it loose and brought her face near to his. John choked on her rancid breath and then she stopped. She narrowed red eyes at him and tilted her head. Then she began to grin and turned to look out into the theater.

John followed her gaze and felt real fear as she settled her eyes on Sam. “No. You leave him alone!” He threw a punch that rocked her head back, and she grabbed his other hand with a snarl.

“Naughty child,” the mormo rasped down at him and flicked her gaze to Sam again.

John fought to free his hands, his gut clenching at the realization that his youngest had now become the focus of her attention. His gun was only a few feet away. “Sam! Run!” he shouted and then grunted when the mormo's hand slammed into the side of his head. She raised her fist to strike him again and then jerked as a gun sounded from behind her and blood sprayed from her chest. John began to smile, but the smile quickly faded as she grinned once again.

Dean fired again. He propped himself up on one elbow and fired into her back over her heart. “Dad?” he called and his eyes went wide when, instead of falling to the side dead, the mormo punched his father in the head again and then turned to look at him. “Oh, crap.”

“Dean! Dad!” Sam watched the mormo leap again as he fired at her. She landed beside his brother and with a swipe of her fist, laid him out on the floor. She bent her face toward his brother's exposed neck and Sam ran toward the stage. “Hey! Hey!” Sam bellowed and shot her again, though, as he expected, it didn't seem to be doing much to slow her. He wanted her attention and he had it. Her head rose back up and she gave him that horrifying, blackened grin.

“Naughty child,” the mormo's voice slithered out into the theater. “Naughty.”

Sam could only gasp as she leaped into the air and landed in front of him with a whump. He let her knock his gun away, knowing it was useless and sure of what he needed to do instead. “Come on!” He kicked one of her legs out and stumbled back a step when she seemed to grow before him until she was his height.

“Naughty child.” The mormo's arms flew out and clasped Sam to her. She slid the talons of one hand into his overlong, dark hair and wrenched his head to the side with it. “Naughty boy.”

Sam grimaced as he felt her sniff deeply along the skin of his neck and looked to the stage. His dad and Dean were just beginning to stir, and he saw his brother's bloodied face rise up to find him.

“Smell... tasty.” The mormo grinned again and lowered her face until her fangs grazed the skin of the boy's throat and she bit down.

Sam cried out but didn't let the fear rule him. He wrapped his own arms around her and held her tight, making sure she wouldn't be getting away from him and he began to speak. “Virtus tempestate mihi de te.” He couldn't stop the whimper when he felt her sucking the blood from his neck a mouthful at a time. It was a sickening sensation. “Quod ignis po... potestatum super te ego.”

Dean crawled out from under the curtains and the bar with a pained groan. He could feel blood running down his back and he grabbed his father's foot when John groaned. “Dad!” He turned his head to find his brother and his heart nearly thumped out of his chest. The mormo had Sam and was feeding from him as Dean watched. “Sammy!” He lurched to his knees and then fell back to the stage, dizzy from his own wounds. “Get off him!”

John came awake with a start and Dean's terrified voice. “Dean? Sam!” He pushed up and slapped a hand out to Dean's shoulder, but it was Dean's eyes he followed and the sight that met him made rage burn inside him. “No!” The mormo was trying to drain his baby boy. And yet…John frowned as he took in the scene more clearly. Sam was holding on to her just as tightly. In fact, John saw Sam's lips moving and could just hear the tone of his voice, gasping and yet sure – not the sound of desperate pleading. He strained his ears as he pulled Dean to him and realized it was Latin. Sam was speaking a Latin incantation while the creature fed from him.

“Proiciam vosspiritum immundum...” Sam struggled to keep the words flowing as he weakened with every pull of the mormo's mouth against his skin. “Sancta descessit. Precipio tiberilinquo relinquere.” The mormo tore her mouth from his throat with a gasp and howled. She tried to push away from Sam in desperation, but he held her with all his strength, clamping his arms around her writhing body while she hissed in his face. “Cogunt vos me vade et vinci a... amen!” He shouted the last word and the mormo screamed. Sam lost his grip on her and fell back to the floor of the auditorium. The mormo's scream carried on and fresh blood began to flow from the wounds in her chest. She arched backward. Her scream cut off and she dropped to the floor of the aisle, collapsing into a heap and going still. Sam saw his family moving on the stage and then let his head fall and his eyes close. He was done and they were safe.

“No, no, no.” Dean panted and pushed his father away. He forced himself to move and crawled across the stage until he reached the edge. “We didn't listen,” Dean said in an angry growl and threw his legs over the edge. He met his father's tormented eyes for just a moment. “Why the hell didn't we listen? He was right!”

John nodded, for a moment frozen and felt the sick curl of guilt wrap around his heart and squeeze. He made himself move and follow. “Sam.”

Dean staggered and would have gone down again if not for the rows of seats on either side. He used them to support him up the aisle. He sidestepped the mormo's carcass and dropped to his knees beside his brother. “Sam.” Dean pulled his brother's head and shoulders up into his lap and wrapped his arms around him until he had Sam's head cradled in his elbow. “Sam, come on. Please open your eyes. Sammy, please.” He was so still and pale and there was so much blood staining his shirts on the left side of his neck that Dean thought there was no way he could possibly be alive.

John stumbled down beside his sons and quickly put shaking fingers to his youngest son's neck. They slid through blood and he swallowed hard against the urge to cry out in remorse. “Come on, Sammy. Gimme something.” He lowered his head and a breath burst out of him when he felt the steady, if fast, thump of Sam's heart under his fingers. “He's alive. Dean, he's alive. He's alive.”

Dean let his head drop weakly into his brother's hair and couldn't stop the few tears that escaped. “We should have listened to him,” Dean said miserably and raised his damp eyes to meet his father's fiercely. “You know we're only alive 'cause of him, right?”

John nodded once and slid a hand into Sam's hair. “I know.” He hated himself enough already without Dean's accusing eyes pinning him down. “We need to get him out of here.” He started to pull Sam from his brother's arms but Dean tightened his grip possessively. Sam had been his to protect and he had failed him once today. He wasn’t going to let go until he knew his brother was safe.

“I'll take him,” Dean said firmly and glared his father down. He had his own guilt to deal with. His little brother had damn near gotten himself killed because Dean hadn't listened to him. He hadn't trusted him, and he wasn't sure he could ever make up for that.

“Dean, your back...”

“I'm fine. I've got him.” Dean shook his head and slid an arm beneath Sam's knees. He struggled to his feet, but didn't throw off the helping hand his father gave him, tugging him up and steadying him.

“Alright. Just...” John shook his own head and let Dean go ahead of him. “We'll patch him up. He'll be fine.”

“He's going to a hospital.” Dean stopped and turned back long enough to meet his dad's eyes. “He's lost too much blood, Dad. Sam needs more than we can do in that drafty-ass, roach- infested house you put us in.”

John's temper flared briefly and died just as quickly. He nodded. “Alright. Let's go.” Dean was right, and this wasn't something he could fix himself. Sam was far too pale and had lost too much blood. It was dangerous to screw around with something like that.

Dean sighed softly in relief and started up the aisle with his precious burden held against his chest. Sam's soft breathing puffing against his neck was the only thing allowing him to maintain some semblance of control and gave him the strength to keep walking even as his torn-up back burned at him with the need to collapse. “I gotcha, Sammy. I gotcha,” he murmured to his brother. “You're gonna be ok.”

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Dean turned his head from where it rested atop the hand he had wrapped around his brother's and watched their father walk into the room. “He hasn't woken up yet.” He didn't bother trying to straighten and sit up straight. His back was a mess. The emergency room staff had caught sight of all the blood when he'd carried his little brother in, and they'd whisked him off along with Sam, leaving their dad standing in the waiting room looking lost. Their story of a cougar attack while hiking in the woods seemed to have held since no cops had appeared to investigate.

“He will.” John dropped a hand to Dean's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before he moved to the other chair and dropped into it with a weary sigh. “The doctor said we got him here in time. He's gonna be weak for a while, dizzy. Days. Maybe a week. We'll have to keep an eye on him.”

“Try and stop me,” Dean said fiercely and turned his head to put his eyes back where they needed to be \-- on Sam's sleeping and alive face. He swallowed and put his chin back on top of his hand. “You know what the worst part of all this is? The part that's just gonna make it twist that much harder for us that we let him down?”

John nodded. He did. “He's going to forgive us.” He snorted softly, if a little miserably. “Well, he's going to forgive you. Me... might take him a little longer.”

Dean nodded and squeezed Sam's hand under his. His skin was still colder than it should be but there was blood flowing into him now, and Dean's eyes followed the red tube from the IV stand that snaked beneath Sam's gown at his elbow. “We almost got him killed.”

“I know.”

“He almost died for us.”

“Dean, son. I...”

Dean turned around and fixed his father with a stern glare. “It doesn't happen again. I know he's only fourteen, Dad. But, dammit, he's smarter than both of us put together.”

John ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he is.” He looked back up and watched Sam sleep. “Also a gigantic pain in my ass.”

Dean couldn't help the small laugh that broke free because truth was truth. He looked down suddenly and then over to his brother. “Sammy?” He'd felt the barest tremor in the hand under his, and Dean reached his other hand up to hold his brother's shoulder.

“He waking up?” John got quickly to his feet and moved to the other side of the bed. He brushed Sam's long, dark hair out of his eyes. “Sam.” He smiled and wasn't surprised when Sam's head turned instinctively toward Dean rather than him.

“That's it, tiger.” Dean grinned and leaned up further in spite of his back. “Open those eyes. Come on, Sammy.” He watched Sam's brows draw together, his eyes move beneath his lids and then they were slowly cracking open and Dean smiled more widely. “'Bout time you decided to join us.”

“Dean?” Sam's voice was soft and hoarse. “Y'kay?”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, buddy. I'm fine.”

“Dad?” Sam turned his head and saw his father on his other side. “Mormo...”

“She's dead, son.” John said with quiet pride. He sat carefully on the side of the bed and grabbed Sam's free hand. “You took her down.” He smiled for a moment and then took a deep breath. “Sammy, I... I'm sorry.” He gave a smirk to the stunned look in Sam's weary eyes. “Yeah, I know. I never say that. Don't get used to it.” That earned him a small smile and he went on. “You did good. We should have listened. I should have listened to you. We nearly got killed last night because I was too damn stubborn to listen to you and I know how good your research skills are.”

“I'm sorry too, Sammy.” Dean's eyes were serious when Sam's turned back to find his. He let his fingers brush over the still-pale skin of his brother's neck and looked down. “Promise I won't ever ignore you again.” He looked back up and smirked. “Well, not about research anyway.”

Sam heard it for what it was; Dean's way of begging for forgiveness without sounding all mushy about it and he smiled. He squeezed Dean's hand that was still holding his. “S'ok, Dean.” He blinked, and weariness made it hard to open his eyes again but he fought it and opened them. He rolled his head over to his father again and sighed. If his father, the king of ignoring when he was wrong, could apologize, so could he. “Sorry I yelled. Should'a... shouldn't have yelled.”

“Shh. Go back to sleep, kiddo.” John brushed his hand over Sam's brow and it had the desired effect. Sam's eyes drooped closed again. “When you wake up again, we'll get you out of here and back home. Go to sleep. It's ok.”

Sam nodded and let his head roll back toward his big brother, though his eyes refused to open. “S'ok.”

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder and saw the moment sleep took him back under. “He's alright.”

John nodded. Like Dean, he hadn't really believed it until Sam had woken and spoke to them. He took a deep breath, the first he'd taken since that moment in the auditorium and let it out with relief as he studied Sam's sleeping face. “I do believe he's gonna make us get him ice cream.”

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Lots of ice cream; buckets of the stuff.”

John watched his eldest lower his head back down and shook his head fondly. “You should get some sleep of your own, Ace.”

Dean shrugged and grimaced as the movement pulled at the wounds on his back. “M'good here.”

“Uh huh.” John stood and found an extra blanket at the end of Sam's bed. He grabbed it and snapped it out, then settled it over Dean's shoulders. “I've got it, Dean. I've got watch. Sleep already.”

Dean's eyes, against his wishes, sagged shut with the warm blanket, Sam's warming hand under his and his father's hand resting on his shoulder.

“That's it, Dean. Sleep.” John spoke softly, letting the drone of his voice ease Dean off and he smirked as he stepped back finally with both his sons asleep. Out of practice he may be, but once in a while, he still remembered how to be a father.

John went back to his chair, sitting quietly down and leaned over to put his face in his hands and he prayed that he would never let his pride come so close to costing him his boys ever again.

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_The End._

**Next Up: Faye**


	39. For Faye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Faye - I never get old of this scenario... Dean is angry/ignoring Sam. Sam gets hurt and hides his injury from Dean until he collapses and Dean feels really bad. Set in the early seasons when Sam was still innocent :P
> 
> A/N: You got it! I set this one in season 1, just after 'Scarecrow'. Hope you like it! :D
> 
> Reviews are love. :D  
> All chapters of the Reader’s Special and Rewards are beta’d by the always awesome JaniceC678.

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If there was one thing Dean hated, it was being forced to slog through muck and mud in the rain and the cold after a creature that damn well should already have been dead. Dean snorted and kicked a root out of his way. It would already have been dead if his little brother had been paying attention and shot the thing when he had the chance. Dean cast a glance over his shoulder and found Sam ten feet behind him walking with his head down and that ridiculous shaggy hair of his covering his face as if in shame.

“Don't lag behind, Sam!” Dean called over the rain and wiped a hand across his face to clear his eyes and hopefully some of the irritation.

Sam jerked his head up with Dean's voice and made an effort to walk faster. “Coming,” he said, but didn't bother raising his voice. It hurt too much to even breathe in enough for a yell. Sam scrubbed his free hand over his face and shoved his hair out of his eyes, but it stubbornly fell back in them again. He went over the moment he had screwed up in his head again for the dozenth time and didn't begrudge his brother his anger. Sam deserved it. He'd picked yet another argument with Dean about their dad. Truthfully, Sam hadn't been trying to. It had just come out wrong and Dean, predictably, had pounced on him for it. Sam rolled his eyes because he had then let his own temper get away from him, and by the time he thought to lower his voice, it was too late. The calygrey hound had heard them -- heard Sam -- and dove down on them with a roar. It had gone straight for Dean and would have had him if not for Sam throwing himself between them and tumbling the creature out of the way through the mire of the swamp. Dean was right; Sam should have taken the shot instead of playing hero. If he'd just shot the stupid thing, Dean wouldn't pissed, or not as pissed, and Sam, well... Sam wouldn't be trying to walk upright in spite of the claw marks he could feel along his lower back and hip. He deserved those too, along with Dean's anger, because Dean's life would never have been in danger had Sam not distracted him with the stupid argument. These thoughts cycled miserably through Sam’s pain-filled consciousness and he tried to keep up with his brother.

Dean slogged through a particularly heavy patch of mud with a snarl of frustration and heaved a sigh of relief when he came out of it finally onto firmer ground. “No more swamps. Holy crap.” He turned back and saw Sam struggling to raise his feet through the sludge and rolled his eyes. “Come on, man! I wanna get dry already! Car's only twenty minutes away!”

Sam waved an arm, not bothering to speak and trudged on until finally he managed to get a foot out of the mud and onto solid ground. He went to a knee to pull his other leg out and only an act of will kept him from loosing the whimper of pain that effort caused him.

“You get any slower, we won't have to come back out here after that thing. It'll catch up with us. Come on.” Dean leaned down and grabbed Sam's arm. He heaved him to his feet and shook his head as he turned away. He knew he was being hard on Sam, but the damn creature had nearly killed them because Sam had distracted them both with that stupid argument and then decided to play action hero and tackle the thing instead of just shooting it.

Sam was glad his brother hadn't stood around to watch the blood drain from his face or see the way he swayed and had to hold on to a nearby tree until his balance came back. The last thing he wanted to do was give Dean a reason to think him weak, not after what had already happened. After all, it was only a few days since his big brother had driven away and left him on the side of the road. It still stung. Sam had never believed Dean would actually leave him there in the middle of nowhere, and seeing the Impala's tail lights dwindling in the distance had damn near broken his heart. There was no easy way to come to terms with the knowledge that some part of Dean was ready to leave him behind, whether Dean wanted to admit it or not.

“Sam!” Dean shouted when he saw his brother staring out at the swamp like he was daydreaming. “Dude, you make me spend any more time in this cold, muddy crap and you can walk back to the motel!”

Sam jerked into the motion with the threat. He wasn't altogether sure that Dean didn't mean it. “Coming.” He followed along behind his brother and worked to walk straight and keep pace with him. There was no time for him to be a baby about a few scratches, however painful they were. He needed to prove to Dean that he could handle himself and protect his brother's back, and so far that day, he wasn't making much of a show of it. “Get a grip, Sam,” he muttered to himself and picked up an extra few steps, drawing almost even with Dean before he gave his brother another reason to be irritated with him.

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Sam groaned softly as he twisted to try and get a better look at the back of his hip in the mirror over the sink. He'd gotten the bleeding stopped at least. “Dammit,” he muttered softly and threw the bloody towel into the sink. There was no way he could stitch his wounds closed at that angle. The simple truth was, he was going to need his brother to do it for him. “Great.”

“Sammy!”

Dean's voice came through the door along with a thump of his brother's fist and he jumped. “What?”

“You done hidin' in there yet? We've got work to do!” Dean banged the door again.

Sam closed his eyes and picked up his shirt. “Yeah. Just... gimme a minute.” He decided he wouldn't be bothering his brother after all and picked up the package of butterfly strips instead. It would just have to do until they finished this job.

Dean sighed and went back to his bed. He picked up his jacket and groaned. It was still sodden from all the rain and the mud. He hung it on the bedpost beside the window heater and hoped it would dry the leather sometime before next year. He sent a glance to the closed bathroom door and wondered what the hell Sam was doing in there. “Wallowing,” he muttered and shook his head. He dug his other jacket out from the bottom of his duffle bag and pulled it on instead. It wasn't as warm, but it would have to do. He looked over when the door opened finally and quirked a brow.

“You done lookin' at yourself in the mirror so we can go finish this?” Dean winced inwardly even as the words left his mouth, but it was too late and he didn't miss the way his brothers' face fell.

“Sorry.” Sam didn't elaborate or rise to the bait. He picked up his jacket and sighed, feeling the water-logged denim. He tugged it on over his hoodie and hoped he wouldn't freeze to death if the temperature dropped even more. “I'm ready. Let's go do this.”

Dean eyed his brother for a moment. Something in the back of his mind was telling him there was something wrong, but he pushed it away. The something wrong was the two of them too busy arguing about their dad to pay attention to the monster that was trying to eat them. “Keep your head in the game this time.”

Sam bobbed a nod and followed Dean out the door. “I will.” Sam spoke the words firmly if softly. He was not going to allow a repeat of earlier in the day. It had been his mistake, and he was damn well going to make up for it and prove to his brother that he could watch his back. He climbed into the Impala and was rather impressed with himself when he managed to keep in the moan of pain that tried to burst out of him as he bent and scrunched himself into the seat.

Dean started the car and headed back to the swamp. “Why can't the monsters ever pop up somewhere nice and warm and dry, like Vegas?” He chuckled at his own joke and glanced over when Sam just kept staring out the window. It sparked the irritation in him again. “Please tell me you're not gonna just mope silently the whole time.”

Sam jerked his head around and stared. He hadn't been listening. Rather, he'd been trying to tune out the pain in his back and hip. “What? No. I wasn't. I was, uh, thinking. Sorry.” He managed a small smile, trying to defuse the annoyance on Dean's face.

“Right.” Dean rolled his eyes back to the road and squinted, leaning forward to see more clearly as the rain began to fall heavily again. “Awesome. It's like Mother friggin' Nature wants to make my day suck as much as possible.”

“Better rain than snow,” Sam said and ducked his eyes from the unamused look Dean sent him. “Right. Never mind.” The drive back to the swamp seemed to take longer than it had the first time, and Sam swore you could have cut the air in the car with a knife. He hoped most of Dean's bad humor was on account of the weather, but he knew, some of it at least was his fault. It was almost a relief to reach the swamp and climb out of the car, though he had to support himself on the door for a moment as his wounded back had stiffened during the drive. Thankfully, his brother had gone straight for the trunk and hadn't noticed his moment of weakness.

Dean pulled their rifles out of the trunk and checked each was loaded before he handed one to Sam along with a box of extra ammo. “No screwin' around this time. You see it, you take the shot.”

“I know, Dean.” Sam sighed and shouldered his rifle. “I won't miss this time.”

Dean nodded and closed the trunk before turning and leading the way down toward swampy ground. Something about Sam's attitude, his whole demeanor really, was starting to bug him. He couldn't put his finger on just what it was though, but he thought he should have. He had always been able to tell instantly what was up with his brother in the past, but their time apart during those years Sam had been at school had definitely mucked up his Sammy-senses. The frigid night air closed around them as they reached the edge of the murky water, and he put it from his mind. It was too dangerous to be distracted; not in a swamp with a creature and no moonlight to see the damn thing by. He’d figure it out later. “Stay sharp, Sammy.”

Sam groaned as his left foot sank into the mire and he tugged it free. The pain in his back and hip seemed to be burning into him. He could feel the chill of the rain as it fell on him, and yet a heat grew inside him that told him his wounds were giving him a fever, as if his day hadn't gone badly enough already. He forced himself to ignore it and the pain and swept his eyes over the trees and the darkness around them. The calygrey hound was a lethal hunter, and he'd bet that it already knew they were back in its territory. Dean had wounded it. The creature was unlikely to forget that, or that Sam had deprived it of a kill.

“Wish we could give it a couple days until the damn rain lets up.” Dean hopped over what looked like a particularly deep pool and cursed when his right boot slid into a mud hole and nearly unbalanced him.

“It might kill more people by then.” Sam shook his head and skirted the pool on the other side. “It's already killed four.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean wasn't arguing. He agreed with his brother. The thing needed killing. “But next hunt, how about somewhere warmer and dryer.”

Sam smiled. “I'll put out a memo to all the supernatural creatures to please start killing in nicer climates in the winter.”

“Smart ass,” Dean threw back with a snort of a laugh. He climbed over a large root and stopped to listen to the swamp around them. “Here doggy, doggy.”

Sam rolled his eyes, relieved that some of Dean's good humor seemed to be returning. “Don't suppose it could be that simple.” He pulled himself over a log, slid down the other side, and his right leg collapsed under him. It forced a pained groan out of him and he curled forward to try and relieve the pressure on his back. “Crap.”

“Sammy?” Dean started making his way over to him while warning bells went off in his head.

“Fine. I'm... I'm fine.” Sam braced a hand on the log above him and found he couldn't move with the pain. It seemed to have sapped all his strength along with the fever. “Need... need a minute. S'all.”

Dean frowned as his brother began to slur his words and jumped the last puddle to reach Sam's little patch of semi-solid ground. “You're hurt,” he said, and it was half accusing and half concern. “Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

Sam shook his head muzzily, still with his eyes closed. “Not... 'sa scratch. M'ok. Keep... keep going. M'good.”

“The hell you are.” Dean said it softly and dropped to his knees beside his brother in the muck. He looked at Sam, really looked at him, and for the first time saw all the things he should have seen earlier in the day \-- the pale face, drawn eyes, the lines between them that screamed pain, and the flush under that shaggy hair that said 'fever' – and all the little things that had been niggling at his mind clicked into place. “Where? Don't gimme any crap, kiddo. Where did it get you?” Inside, he kicked himself for not once considering that his brother hadn't managed to tackle the calygrey hound and wrestle the damn thing away from him without being hurt. Why the hell hadn't he checked? He slipped a hand around the side of his brother's neck and felt the tremble there with a fresh kick of guilt.

Dean scanned the area around them warily and put his attention back on his brother. “Talk to me, buddy. Take a deep breath and talk to me.”

The soothing sound of Dean's voice pulled Sam back from the edge of pained exhaustion. He had been conditioned to respond to that voice through the whole of his life and he didn't fail to now. He blinked and finally cracked his eyes open. “Uh... back. Right side and, uh... my hip.” He shook his head and met Dean's worried green eyes. “I didn't... s'my fault we lost it. Didn' want anyone else to get hurt... 'cause of me.”

“Sammy.” Dean cupped the side of his brother's face and waited for him to meet his gaze again. “I'm sorry I was so hard on you, man. I should'a shut the hell up for five minutes and looked at you.” He tugged Sam forward gently with his hold on his neck and pulled his flashlight out of his pocket. He flicked it on, tugged up the back of his brother's shirts and the three long furrows that met his gaze twisted the knife of guilt even further. They were haphazardly held together with butterfly strips instead of the stitches they needed and were now an angry red that screamed infection. He didn't argue when Sam's forehead thumped into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Sam said softly into his brother's shoulder. “Should'a been faster. Shouldn't've... started the argument.”

“No, man. I shouldn't have bit your head off in the first place.” Dean closed his eyes for just a moment and held on to his injured brother. “You know how fast I get my head up my ass when it comes to you and dad.” He smiled when he felt the weak snort of laughter against his neck. “Come on. Big ugly's gonna have to wait a day.”

“No.” Sam worked to push himself back up and shook his head. “Can't. S'killin' people.”

“Sammy, forget it.” Dean reached down and picked up his brother's rifle, slinging it over his free shoulder. “You can barely walk, and this thing's too good a hunter to take on solo. We're goin' back.” He nudged his brother's head back up. “You should have told me it tagged you.” He smiled at the defeated look on Sam's face. “And I damn well should have seen it before you were on the ground out here. That's on me. Come on. Let's go put you back together, Humpty, and we'll come back out here in a day or so and bag the evil, mutant dog thing.”

Sam wanted to argue, but Dean was right. He needed backup to kill the hound, and Sam was no longer in any condition. He studied his brother's eyes for a moment, expecting anger or accusation, but found only sincerity and concern there, and he let out the breath he'd been holding since that morning. “Ok.”

Dean grinned and shifted, sliding an arm under his brother's shoulder. “Should know better than to argue with me, college boy. I'm always right.”

Sam snorted even as he groaned while Dean pulled him up. “Don' forget hum... humble.” He leaned on the log behind him and blew out a breath, letting his eyes close for a second. “Crap, that hurts.”

“I'll bet. Damn thing tried to split you in two.”

Sam nodded and opened his eyes. He froze. The calygrey hound stood just on the edge of the swamp beyond them, behind his brother's back. It stood nearly six feet tall with the body of a massive dog, the head of a wildcat and eagle's talons that glinted in the dim light of the swamp as it curled one paw in the air like it was playing with them. He remembered the feeling of those wicked claws digging into him and tensed. “Dean,” Sam whispered, the barest hint of sound.

Dean felt the sudden tension in Sam's body and saw his wide eyes staring over his shoulder. He didn't need his brother to tell him. The creature was behind him, and he knew, unless he was very fast and very good, they were going to be dead.

Sam slid a hand up his brother's arm and hooked the strap on his rifle. He saw the barrel of Dean's rise up in his peripheral vision and tried to be ready. He gave a slight nod and kept his eyes on the creature.

Dean counted to three in his head and moved. He spun away from Sam, letting his left arm fall loose as Sam peeled the rifle off his shoulder and raised his own rifle as he turned. The calygrey hound was already in motion. It bunched corded muscle in that massive body and leaped from the ground toward them. Its wildcat jaws opened wide revealing rows of razor sharp teeth, and Dean aimed the muzzle of his rifle into its mouth and fired. He heard an answering shot from Sam beside him and the creature twisted in the air.

Sam grunted in pain as Dean's body slammed into him and knocked them both to the ground. The calygrey hound crashed into the log where Sam had been standing. “Crap,” he groaned and tried to twist himself out from under his brother, but the pain left him gasping.

Dean rolled off Sam and to his knees as he racked another round into the chamber and aimed at the hound. It lay on its side beside the log, lethal claws twitching bare inches from their feet. It was dead. Dean had blown out the back of its head, and there was a second, bloody wound on its chest directly over its heart. Dean grinned. “Nice shot, Sammy.” He looked down and dropped his rifle. “Shit, Sam! I'm sorry!” He rolled his panting brother up out of the mud and against his arm as gently as he could. “You ok?”

Sam nodded and tried to catch his breath. “That... sucked.”

“Yeah.” Dean inched him up a little more and looked back at the dead creature. “Guess we don't have to come back out here again.”

Sam looked at the calygrey hound's body and smiled in relief, then looked up and began to chuckle. “Rain stopped.”

“Oh, that's just not fair.” Dean glared up at the clouds as they began to part and moonlight started to filter down to them. “Mother friggin Nature can kiss my Winchester ass. Her timing sucks!”

Sam laughed harder and curled up as it drove a fresh wave of pain through his wounded back. “Ow. Ow... don't make me laugh!”

Dean chuckled and shouldered his brother's rifle once again along with his own. “Come on, gimp.” It took some work to get Sam back on his feet and Dean held on to him while he found his balance. He looked down at the dead creature as they passed. “Local wildlife'll make short work of ugly here. Where the hell'd that thing even come from?”

“Ancient English... used to use it as a herald.” Sam focused on keeping his feet moving while his right hip seemed to want to give out at any moment.

“Of course you would know that,” Dean said fondly and hitched Sam a little closer to his side when he staggered.

It was a long, wet walk back to the car and a miserable drive for Sam who couldn't seem to find a comfortable position for his aching body. He was almost willing to let Dean carry him into the motel room, bruised ego be damned, but thankfully found just enough energy to get out of the car with his help and limp inside.

“Ok, easy. Easy. Here we go.” Dean lowered his brother down to sit in the chair. “Gotta get all this muddy crap off you before you get in that bed. You don't wanna sleep in this crap.” Dean pulled Sam's jacket off his shoulders and plucked at his hoodie. “You get that off on your own?”

Sam glowered up at him. “My arms aren't broken.”

Dean smiled and went into the bathroom. He grabbed two towels and wet one down and then looked in the mirror at himself. 'Watch out for Sammy' had been the one job his dad had entrusted him with since he was four years old, and he'd supremely messed that up today, allowing his temper to blind him to how injured his brother was. He'd damn near gotten him killed. Twice, if he was honest with himself. He shook his head and grabbed the first aid kit from the counter and went back out. He'd just have to do better.

Sam tossed his muddy hoodie and shirt to the floor in a wet pile and leaned forward slightly over his knees with a soft moan.

“Pants too,” Dean informed his brother cheerfully and set the first aid kit on the nightstand between the beds.

Sam groaned but nodded. He slowly kicked his shoes off and unbuckled his belt, trying not to feel like a five year old undressing in front of his big brother. “Shuddup,” he grumbled when Dean came over still grinning at him.

“Oh, chill out, princess. Come on. Up.” Dean gently pulled his brother out of the chair and steadied him while Sam tugged his jeans down in fits and starts. He ruthlessly squashed the urge to laugh and braced Sam against the table. “Hang on to that.”

“Dude, no.” Sam tried to protest when Dean ducked down and started peeling the jeans down his legs for him. Sam kept a tight hold on his shorts; his ego could only take so many hits.

A chuckle escaped Dean and he didn't look up as he pulled the pants and Sam's socks along with them off his legs. “Oh please. I changed your diapers. Get over it and stop blushin' like a virgin on prom night.”

“You're such a jerk.” Sam hated being that weak, but he kept the outburst of aggravation he felt to himself. That's what had gotten them in so much trouble in the first place.

“Ok.” Dean shoved the clothes aside and stood. He pulled his brother's arm over his shoulders and half-carried him across to the bed. He lowered him down and grimaced in sympathy when another groan of pain escaped his brother. “Take it easy. Here we go. On your stomach.”

Sam nodded and rolled carefully onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow wearily. “Tried to clean them up myself but...”

“It's in a shit spot, yeah.” Dean sat beside him and looked down at the injuries, getting a clear look at them and marveled a little that Sam had managed to hide it as well as he had for as long as he had. They had to hurt like hell. He pulled the blanket up to Sam's hips and started peeling the butterfly strips away as carefully as he could. “I'm sorry, Sammy.”

Sam turned his head enough to see Dean from the corner of his eye. “Not your fault. I know better than to go on a hunt wounded like this.”

“Yeah, well, I was being a dick.”

Sam snorted. “You're always a dick.”

“Shuddup, bitch,” Dean returned but it was fond. He reached over and took a bottle of pills from the kit, shook out two and held them out. “Take these. We got nowhere to be tomorrow and this is gonna hurt like hell while I'm cleaning it out.”

Sam considered refusing but gave in with a small nod. He twisted a little to grab them and popped them in his mouth, not surprised when there was a bottle of water suddenly in front of his face. He took that too and swallowed the pills, handing it back. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean set the bottle aside and waited for Sam to lay back down before he went back to peeling the little strips off. “That's what awesome big brother's are for, Sammy.”

Sam gave a soft laugh into the pillow and did his best to relax and not flinch while Dean performed well-meaning torture on his back. It was comforting to have his big brother taking care of him, like he always had, even after the day they'd had. It settled him.

Dean worked slowly and didn't start cleaning out the gouges with peroxide until he felt Sam settle into the bed, the heavy-duty painkillers finally beginning to work. He gently cleaned each red, angry wound and felt Sam shift next to him. “You ok, Sammy?” His brother gave him a silent nod. “Not gonna throw up on me, are ya?” Sam gave him a shake of his head and Dean smiled and bent back to his work.

“Dean?”

“How are you not asleep yet?” Dean asked fondly. “What?”

“I really do miss him, you know?” Sam said softly, not turning his head out of the pillow. “I just... I want to see him so I can tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Dean frowned and leaned forward to hear his brother better, afraid he was going to breathe life into the earlier argument about their father.

Sam sighed and felt tears in his closed eyes. “That I understand now.”

Dean's breath caught in his chest for just a second and he swallowed around it. “Aw, Sammy.” He put a hand over the back of his brother's head and felt Sam's breathing hitch with emotion. “He knows. Come on; let go now. Go to sleep already. You're gonna be fine.” Dean carded his fingers back through his brother's dark hair as he'd often done as a child to soothe him and felt Sam calm and slide, finally, into sleep. “I gotcha, little brother.”

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_The End._

**Next Up: SuperVikinggirl**


	40. For SuperVikinggirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For SuperVikinggirl - a story with Garth in it. I love the Garth character and I don't see many stories with him in it so I was thinking of a story where the boys are on what should have been an effortless hunt but nothing seems to go right for the Winchesters and Sam has to rescue a very injured and grumpy Dean but ends up in a mess himself. But then Garth, as the new 'Bobby' ( and in his own bumbling way); saves the day for our Boys!
> 
> A/N: Oh, I do enjoy writing Garth. He's fun and I love his interactions with the boys. Some hurt boys and some hero Garth to the rescue! Can do!
> 
> Reviews are love. :D  
> All chapters of the Reader’s Special and Rewards are beta’d by the always awesome JaniceC678.

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“I still don't like this.” Sam stepped around the bole of a large tree and glanced over at his brother.

“Hey, you did the research.” Dean gave his axe a practice swing with a grin. “All we gotta do is find the dryad's tree and chop the bitch down.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, when is anything ever that simple?”

“Well, the dryad ain't going anywhere.” Dean waggled his brows at his brother and hooked a finger back toward the edge of the forest. “Unless you think she can put herself back together from a pile of ashes.”

Sam shook his head. “Doubtful; but then, the lore is pretty insistent that you can't kill one without killing her tree first.”

“Dude, we flash fried her.” Dean eyed the long, red cut along the edge of his brother's jaw and nodded. “Deserved it too. Let's just find the tree and get outta here. I want pie.”

Sam laughed. “You always want pie.” He pulled the compass out of his pocket and checked it. “If Garth's right, her tree should be around here somewhere. He said the satellite image put it in this valley. Split up?”

Dean's knee-jerk reaction was to say no, but he nodded. “Yeah. We'll cover more ground that way. Shout if you find it.” He slapped Sam's elbow. “Or if something tries to eat you.”

“Whatever.” Sam ducked under a tangle of boughs and moved off into the trees. He listened to Dean's footsteps going away from him and then turned his attention to the trees. The lore said a dryad's tree wouldn't be hard to spot. It would be the oldest-looking tree in the forest, massive and gnarled, probably covered in vines with blackened bark and the smell of something rotting. “I hate camping,” Sam muttered and had to shove a tangle of vines and limbs out of his way.

The forest was old and dense. Much of the underbrush had grown up between the trees to form virtual barricades that Sam had to wade through or cut his way past with the axe. He could distantly hear the occasional sounds of frustration from his brother, and that made him smirk each time one of Dean's shouted curses carried on the air. The sun barely filtered down through the treetops, creating a false twilight beneath them that made Sam shiver. He cut through another thicket of bushes and as he shoved through, a soft tinkling sound carried on the air.

Sam stopped and stared. “No,” he breathed. The sound came again, louder, and the bottom fell out of his stomach. “Oh, crap. Dean!” Sam shouted and pushed through the thicket. “Dean, watch out!” A limb from one of the trees beside him moved suddenly. It swept down with a whistling sound and slammed into Sam's chest, knocking him backward. He fell through the air and rolled across the forest floor into the base of a tree with a groan.

“Ow,” Sam moaned and rolled to his side. He sat up cautiously, relieved he still had hold of his axe. When they'd caught the dryad at the edge of the forest, he'd felt like they had gotten lucky. They hadn't had to risk searching her territory for her. She had come to them and torching her had been relatively easy. “Should have known,” he grumbled as he climbed back to his feet. “We never get that lucky. Dean?” Sam yelled his brother's name and heard an answer, but it was distant. “Damn.” He rubbed a hand over his aching chest and started toward the sound of his brother's voice.

Sam hacked a vine as it swung down from a tree above for him and spun away. “Dean!” He called his brother again and yelped as something slammed into the side of his head. “Crap!” He staggered against a tree and put a hand to his head, feeling a little blood and rolled his eyes. He ran on when he heard Dean's voice shout his name. It was closer, but still too far away. Sam's eyes scanned through the now violently shifting forest as he jogged for any sign of the dryad. She had to be there somewhere.

Sam groaned and ducked before yet another flying tree limb could take his head off. He ran a few more steps and slid to his knees under another swipe. “Dean!” he shouted and heard the muffled sound of his brother's voice from somewhere to his right. “Dean, talk to me!” Sam climbed back to his feet, warding off another blow with his axe and heard the sound of his brother's voice raised in pain. It gave him a burst of strength and speed as he broke into a run, ducking and dodging the melee of limbs and vines intent on killing him.

“Dean! Dean, where are you?” Sam broke from a screen of trees and slid to a stop. In front of him was what could only be the dryad's tree. It looked exactly as the lore had said it would, and the smell of rotting flesh burned his eyes and nose. He put an arm over his nose and mouth and looked for his brother. “Dean?”

“Here!”

Sam turned toward the pained sound of his brother's voice and ducked back into the trees. He narrowly avoided a looping, curling length of vine trying for his neck, stumbled and rolled when the ground went out from under him. He crashed through a screen of bushes that shook with his passing and came to a rest with a gasp in a small gully. “Ow.”

“Nice... nice entrance,” Dean said with a weak attempt at a smile and waited for his brother's head to come up.

“Dean?” Sam looked over in surprise and then in growing horror. He scrambled along the gully to his brother and stared. “What the hell happened to you?” Dean was bleeding from a half a dozen different places and Sam saw what looked like the severed limbs of small saplings sticking out of his brother's shirt and a leg of his jeans. He'd been impaled. And Sam had no idea how deep the wounds went.

“Zigged... should'a zagged.” Dean chuckled and then coughed, curling over himself with the pain. He grasped hold of the arm Sam put out to support him and waited for it to pass. “Dryad's pissed.”

“I noticed,” Sam said softly. He set his axe down and pulled gently at Dean's jacket and shirts, trying to get a better look.

Dean leaned back again and looked up at the trees above them. The gully was just deep enough to keep them out of reach, but they were shifting and moving all around them. “Saw her... for just a second.” He raised a brow and shook his head. “She's all charred black and shit.” He chuckled softly. “She don't look so good.”

“Can't believe she could reform out of a pile of ash.” Sam pulled his jacket off and then his flannel. He balled it up and shoved it against a bleeding hole in his brother's stomach, grimacing in sympathy when Dean hissed out a breath. “That's not in the lore.” Sam considered pulling out the three branches still stuck into his brother and then dismissed the idea. It might just make the bleeding even worse. If one had severed an artery or pierced a vital organ, he could bleed out in a matter of minutes. Dean needed a hospital.

“M'ok. Just get... get me up.” Dean tried to shove his brother's hands away and growled when Sam simply held him down and refused to move.

“Knock it off, Dean.” Sam waited for him to settle. “You're not getting out of here while the forest is trying to kill us.” He looked down at his axe and then to his brother's narrowing eyes. “I've got to stop her.”

“No. No way in hell.” Dean grabbed hold of Sam's arm furiously. “You are not goin' back out there without me!”

“No choice. Here, hold this.” Sam took one of Dean's hands and pressed it over the flannel at his stomach. “You're still bleeding.” He looked up again as he picked up his axe and managed a small smile. “I'll be fine.”

“Bullshit.” Dean tried to catch hold of Sam again and missed as he leaned back. “Sam, no!”

“You gonna sit there and tell me you can stand up right now?” Sam asked and waited, knowing what would happen as Dean glared and tried to push himself up. It only took a moment before the blood drained from his big brother's face and Dean slumped back down. “Right. So, stay put. Your bag around here?”

Dean waved a hand toward the other side of the gully and didn't like this plan one bit. It pissed him off that he'd allowed himself to be caught off guard and damn near skewered. It was supposed to be his job to take care of Sam, not the other way around. “I don't like this.”

“I know.” Sam placed Dean's hand back over the makeshift bandage on his stomach. “Neither do I, but we're kind of out of options. You’d do the same thing.” He shrugged and pulled the bag over.

“That’s different,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam ignored the comment and dug out Dean's homemade flamethrower and tried for a confident face. “All I have to do is torch the tree. It's maybe fifty feet from here. No problem.”

Dean slapped his brother's elbow. “Don't say shit like that. You tryin' to jinx this?”

“Just lay still and try not to bleed all over the place anymore.” Sam swallowed, steeling himself and moved away from his brother.

“Sam, you watch your back,” Dean said firmly and suffered as he watched his brother crawl to the other side of the gully and then vanish up into the swaying trees. “Dammit.”

Sam ducked low along the ground and narrowly avoided another blow to his head. “Not good,” he groaned when he saw a tangle of vines whipping down from the trees toward him. He rolled away before they could catch him and got up to one knee, trying to fix the direction of the one tree he wanted. A dark shape flitted through the trees ahead of him.

“Dammit. You would show up now.” Sam rushed to his feet and brought the flamethrower up in his left hand as he started toward the dryad's tree. “Just let me get close enough.”

Sam ducked another swipe from a tree ahead of him and jumped sideways when a vine whipped down at him. He didn't quite evade it, feeling pain sting along his right arm. “Shit!”

“Sammy?”

His brother's voice echoed up behind him and Sam shook his head. “I'm fine!” he yelled back and jerked his axe up to ward off another blow. Sam gasped as sharp pain stabbed into the left side of his back and his right shoulder. He went to a knee and turned with the movement to find the dryad behind him. Her body was burnt black and smoking in places while ash drifted from her limbs as she moved with him. She had stabbed abnormally long, branch like fingers into him and he stared for a moment in horrified fascination.

Sam shook himself and threw his weight backward away from her. He moaned in pain as the branches slid grudgingly from his flesh and brought the flame thrower up. Sam pressed the button and fire spewed out of the nozzle and onto the dryad. Her unearthly scream filled the air as she fled Sam with flames trailing behind her.

“God,” Sam groaned and hunched over himself. He could feel blood running down his back under his shirts and struggled back to his feet. He looked in the direction of the dryad's tree and could see the sparkle of flames through the waving branches. The dryad was going to wait for Sam to come to her. As much as he wanted to finish this and get them both out of there, he knew he couldn’t do it. It would be suicide to try to take her on in his condition. And if he tried and got himself killed, Dean would be left helpless to become her next victim. He shook his head and started back toward the gully instead. He staggered with the pain and went to one knee before regaining his feet and finally slid back into the gully a few feet from his brother.

“Sam?” Dean looked up in surprise when Sam appeared and frowned. He didn't look right. “What happened? I heard that bitch screamin'. You get her?”

Sam nodded and then shook his head. He set the flamethrower aside and let his axe drop and curled over himself again. “Doused her but... ran off. Still out there.”

“Sammy?” Dean forced himself to sit up enough to reach an arm out. He snagged the sleeve of his brother's jacket and tugged. “You hurt?”

Sam nodded and inched closer to his brother carefully. “Don't think... didn't hit anything vital.”

“Anything vital?” Dean asked and felt fear blow through him. “Come here! Get over here and let me look, dammit!”

Sam pulled his phone out instead and ignored Dean's snarl as he dialed. “We need help.” He listened to it ring and closed his eyes when it went to voicemail. “Dammit.” He listened and waited and finally it beeped. “Garth. We need backup. Like, yesterday. Dean's down. Me too. The dryad's still alive. So's her tree. We're pinned down in a gully about twenty yards from her tree, and we're...” he glanced over at Dean's far too pale face and looked away again. “We need you, man. Call me when you get this.”

“Sammy, dammit. Get the hell over here where I can see you,” Dean said breathlessly. Trying to move hadn't done him any favors. The blood loss alone was enough to make him dizzy, but the pain was making his vision waver. “Come on.”

Sam put his phone away and nodded. He shifted himself across the ground, making sure to pull the flamethrower with him just in case. So far it was the only thing that the dryad seemed to be afraid of. He turned his back to his brother and started the painful process of getting his jacket off. “Right shoulder. Left side of my back. Hurts like hell.”

Dean helped as well as he could until finally Sam's jacket came away and Dean's eyes widened fearfully at the amount of blood on his brother. He tugged the neck out and saw a bleeding hole in the back of his shoulder. “Crap. You move your right arm at all?”

Sam twitched his arm and flinched but nodded. “Hurts, but... yeah.” He groaned when Dean's fingers pressed in around the hole in his lower back and resisted the urge to twist away from the pain. “How bad?”

“Well, it ain't pretty,” Dean said softly. The hole was about a half inch wide and still bleeding sluggishly. He pulled on Sam's tee shirt. “Get this off. Need it back here.”

Sam nodded again and slowly worked his tee shirt off, shivering in the shade of the gully as the breeze blew over his bare chest. “Well, this job... ow.” He hunched when Dean pressed the shirt into his lower back. “... went south fast.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Ease back here next to me,” Dean told his brother and tried to guide Sam as he moved so his back rested against the gully beside him. He kept the wad of Sam's shirt against the wound in his back so that it was held in place by Sam's body and the earth behind him. “Ok?”

Sam nodded and swallowed hard around the sudden need to vomit. “Uh... yeah. You?”

Dean snorted softly and inched his fingers out until he caught the strap of the flame thrower and dragged it to him. “Yeah, I'm great.” He leaned back with pain and exhaustion and let his eyes close. “Gimme five. Be ready to whoop tree girl's ass again.”

Sam chuckled and groaned as it made him hurt. He curled one arm over the still aching area on his chest where the first tree branch had caught him. “You realize... you got... got owned by a g-girl.” He began to laugh again and glanced over to see the dark look on his brother's face.

“You think I can't kick your ass right now.” Dean growled and shook his head. “Medieval forest spirit chicks do not count.”

“Right.” Sam swallowed again and then groaned. “Uh oh.”

“No, you don't.” Dean lightly slapped Sam's bare arm. “No puking down here, man. I can not live with the smell of your puke in here!”

Sam nodded, not daring to open his mouth to speak and continued swallowing convulsively.

“Don't you do it,” Dean warned even as he worried about how bad the blood loss had to be for Sam to already be that nauseous. He was fighting the queasiness in his own gut and knew he would lose the battle instantly if Sam actually puked. Things were not looking up for them.

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Garth crooned out the last note of his song and let the microphone drop as applause thundered through the bar. He grinned, gave a bow and swaggered off the karaoke stage and back to his beer at the bar and the hot blonde cozied up beside it and looking all kinds of impressed.

“You really are the karaoke king,” she said in an awed voice.

Garth chuckled and slid onto the bar stool next to her. He draped an arm over her shoulders and smiled when she leaned into him warmly. “Eh. I'm good. So what do ya' say we blow this pop stand and find somewhere more comfortable?”

She smiled widely and leaned her head up to brush her lips along the edge of his stubbled jaw. “That is just what I was thinkin'.”

“That's my girl.” Garth tossed a twenty onto the bar and stood, drawing her under his arm. “Daisy, you and me are gonna have a hell of a night.” He walked out with her, humming along with the song playing and stepped outside into the still sunny, late afternoon with a deep breath. He steered Daisy toward his car with a kick in his step while her nimble fingers danced up his spine under his jacket. Just as he reached for the handle to the passenger door, the phone in his pocket beeped.

“You're not gonna answer that, are you?” Daisy asked playfully and took charge, pushing Garth up against the side of the car to kiss along his neck.

“Oh, Daisy.” Garth breathed happily and then shook his head. “Gotta check the message, honey. You never know.” And he knew Sam and Dean were out on a job right then that he'd sent them on. No way could he ignore it as much as he might want to. He dug his phone out of his pocket while Daisy seemed to grow more hands than arms and cued up the voicemail. “Better be a damn good reason you idjits are...” Garth's voice trailed off as Sam's voice came through the phone and he went still. You didn't have to be a genius to hear not only the pain but the fear in Sam's voice. Something had gone really wrong and they needed them.

“Well, balls.” Garth flipped his phone closed and regretfully pushed Daisy away from him.

“Aw, Garth. We were just getting acquainted!” Daisy protested.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but my boys need me.” Garth leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Believe me, walkin' away from you hurts. You go on back in there and keep that stool warm for me. I’ll be back.” He was quickly around the car and sliding behind the wheel as he dialed Sam's number. “Come on, pick up.”

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Sam groaned and forced his head up from where it had rolled over to the side. He looked around blearily and realized he was leaning against Dean. His head had been resting on his shoulder and his brother's arm was draped over his own shoulders. “Dean?” he asked hoarsely and tried to move to get a look at him.

Dean 'hmm'd in reply but didn't quite manage to get his eyes open. He was so damn tired now. Even breathing seemed to be an effort.

“Dean!” Sam made his exhausted body cooperate enough to turn. Dean's arm slid off his shoulders and he shivered with the loss of the warmth. “Dean, come on.” Sam grimaced as moving made his wounds pull and he felt fresh blood begin to seep down his back as he got a hand on Dean finally.

“Mmf,” Dean managed and finally cracked his eyes open to find Sam watching him worriedly. “You 'kay?”

Sam laughed softly and shook his head. “Jesus, Dean. Are YOU ok? You look like you're about to fade away.” Dean looked like hell, though Sam figured neither one of them looked exactly ready to run a marathon at that point. He reached for Dean to check the wound in his stomach and groaned as his own injury low on his back reminded him what a bad idea twisting that way was. Sam's eyes crossed, his vision began to tunnel and for a few moments he could focus on nothing but the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. Gradually, the world came back to him and he realized he was tilted sideways, a hand was resting in his hair and his brother's worried voice was coming from above him.

“Sammy?” Dean shifted his other hand, letting go of Sam's shoulder and reached back to press on the makeshift bandage. It pissed him off that the wounds from the dryad were still sluggishly bleeding, like they refused to clot properly and that scared him all on its own. “Buddy, talk to me.” He had his brother in his lap. There'd been little else to do when Sam had suddenly gone ghost white, moaned and collapsed. Dean wasn't feeling much better himself but thought now that he had perhaps gotten lucky earlier. His wounds had come from a couple trees whose limbs had stabbed into him, rather than the dryad herself. “Sam.”

Sam groaned and nodded his head, though he didn't try to move. His body felt too heavy. “M'here.”

Dean blew out a breath in relief and leaned back again, though he kept his hands on his brother. “Don't freak me out like that.”

“Sorry,” Sam said breathlessly. He swallowed and closed his eyes again. “Dryad?”

“Still lickin' her wounds out there somewhere, but she's around.” Dean looked up at the forest above them. The limbs of the trees and the vines still swayed and whipped through the air in search of them. It wouldn't be long until the bitch came looking for them again.

Sam nodded and then frowned when a new sound cut through the late afternoon. “What?” He lifted his head a little and opened his eyes but his vision remained blurry.

Dean took his hand out of his brother's hair and picked up the flame thrower next to him. “Dunno.” His arms felt heavy with exhaustion, but he managed to keep a grip on it and scanned the trees surrounding the gully above them. The sound grew louder, like a buzzing sound and Dean frowned when he realized he could hear whistling above it. “Is that... Smoke on the Water?”

Sam nodded in a daze. “S'dryad a Deep Purple fan?”

The whistling and the buzzing grew louder and Dean's brows went up as he realized what he was hearing. “Dude, that's a chainsaw!” He listened in surprise and a minute later, as the sound rang through the gully, the limbs of the tree at the other end shook and then fell to the ground as they were sawed away and Garth appeared in the opening. “Garth?”

Garth grinned and held up his chainsaw as he took in the boys curled together in the bottom of the little gully. “What are you two idjits doin' layin' around?” He snapped his gum and swung the chainsaw up to sever a vine that came swinging for him.

Sam stared and then began to chuckle. He let his head drop back into his brother's lap and laughed. “Hey... hey, Garth.”

“You boys just sit tight while I go garth me a tree.” Garth nodded happily and turned away.

Dean snorted when he saw the flamethrower strapped to the man's back. “Watch out for the dryad! Bitch is still out there and we kinda pissed her off.”

Garth chuckled and rolled his shoulders. “Come get some,” he muttered and started through the trees. He was no fool, however. Despite his perpetual upbeat attitude, he knew this thing had taken out not one but both Winchesters, who were possibly the best hunters he knew of. He kept his chainsaw up defensively and handily took care of any tree limb or vine that came for him until he was standing beneath the stinking, gnarled tree that belonged to the creature. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and brought the nozzle of the flamethrower up. “You are one fugly tree.”

He stepped back and smiled cheerfully as he sprayed fire onto the tree and up its twisted trunk. Garth heard a howl from behind him and turned with the chainsaw still buzzing in his other hand. He swept it in a wide arc, letting the flames follow behind and easily caught the dryad before she could do more than screech. The chainsaw took one of her arms off at the shoulder and then flames rained over her already blackened body and she crumpled to the forest floor as she screamed.

Dean could see the glow of flames between the trees. He heard the dryad's howls taper off and finally the forest around them went still. He grinned and set his own flamethrower aside, putting his hand back on his brother's head. “Hey. Looks like Garth saved our bacon.”

Sam nodded. He was still chuckling at the image the other hunter had made, standing on the edge of the gully with his flamethrower in one hand and a chainsaw in the other and popping his gum. “S'like... nerdy Rambo.”

Garth stood back once the tree was flaming on its own and nodded. “Job well done.” He clicked off the flamethrower and clipped the nozzle back to his belt, then switched off the chainsaw. “Now for the other half of the job,” he said fondly and jogged back to the gully, making sure to give the dying dryad a wide berth just in case she still had any fight left in her. He pushed through the screen of now harmless trees and found the brothers where he'd left them.

“You ain't lookin' so good.” Garth moved over and knelt beside them. He dropped a hand onto Sam's shoulder and was a little less worried when weary, hazel eyes blinked open to look up at him. “Hey, Sam.”

“Garth.” Sam smiled and held a hand up which the hunter eagerly clasped. “Thanks for the save.”

“That was pretty kick ass, dude,” Dean said with a short laugh and then groaned, slapping a hand back over the wound in his stomach. “Getting us out of here isn't gonna be easy, though.”

“Can'walk,” Sam said suddenly and began the slow, painful process of lifting himself up from his brother's lap. Garth's hands were there along with Dean's to support him until he was gasping and sitting. “'ventually.”

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Yeah. Maybe crawl's a better word.”

“Look like a couple of pincushions,” Garth said cheerfully. “I figure I can get you back to the cars one at a time.”

“Sam first.” Dean gave his best glare up at Garth.

“Dude.” Sam protested and shook his head. “He's been bleedin' a lot longer... longer than me.”

“Yeah, but...” Garth studied Dean's face and set the chainsaw on the ground before he wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder. “... Dean scares me more than you do.”

Dean managed a small laugh that ended in more of a pained cough, but nodded, satisfied, while Garth tugged his brother to his feet. “Man knows his Winchesters.”

“Jerk,” Sam gasped and ended up hunched over Garth trying to stay on his feet. “Both... both jerks.”

“He's been actin' drunk since the dryad stabbed him.” Dean met Garth's eyes around his brother, making sure the man knew he was worried. “Should I be worried about that? Poison or something?”

Garth snorted and shook his head. “He kind of is drunk.”

“Am not!” Sam glared down at Garth.

“It ain't poison. It's fermented tree sap.” Garth chuckled and patted Sam's chest bravely. “The dryad slipped you a mickey, big guy.”

“Oh, that is...” Dean snorted a laugh and let his head fall back. “That's good. I'm gonna have fun with that later.”

“Please shuddup.” Sam gave a pitiful kick to his brother's leg. “Can we go now?”

Dean snickered as Garth started his brother moving and let his head fall back against the wall of the gully. “Garth, dude. He whines. Fair warning.”

Garth wisely kept his laugh to himself while Sam snarled and waved his free hand at Dean. “Back for you in twenty. Don't go anywhere.”

Dean watched them go, still chuckling and let out a relieved breath now that the danger was over. He closed his eyes and listened to the calm wind in the trees, holding a hand over the wound in his stomach and smiled. Sam would have rolled his eyes but all things considered... “This was a good day.”

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_The End._

**Next Up: golden starfish**


	41. for Golden Starfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For golden starfish - My one shot prompt is: Season 2. One or more outsiders witness Sam having a vision.
> 
> A/N: Took me a bit to decide how to do this one. Lol Since the outward appearance of the visions themselves mostly just looks like a kick-ass migraine and that doesn't necessarily make for gripping reading. Hopefully, I've come up with something worthwhile here. :D Hope you like it!  
> … I may have had a little fun at the start being in our outsider's head when the boys walked in. *snicker*
> 
> Reviews are love. :D  
> All chapters of the Reader’s Special and Rewards are beta’d by the always awesome JaniceC678.

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The bank lobby whispered with the voices of the twenty or so people gathered in lines for the tellers. Some of the voices were loud and echoed in the space while most were kept lower, trying not to stand out. Leila adjusted her purse on her shoulder for the tenth time and looked at the long line in front of her again. She sighed and shook her head.

“They never put enough tellers on for a Friday, dear. Do they?”

Leila looked over at the old woman behind her who had spoken and shook her head with a smile. “You'd think they'd learn.”

The old woman pursed her lips and glared up at the still-not-moving line disapprovingly. “Probably saves them money using less tellers or something. Banks are all about keeping your money.”

“Right.” Leila nodded and turned away, hoping the woman wouldn't keep talking to her. She rolled her eyes for patience and wondered how she always seemed to get stuck next to the same sort of people in lines. She shifted her aching feet and looked over as the doors to the bank opened and more people came in. She felt her mouth open and her eyes widen as two of the tallest and \-- good lord! -- sexiest men she had ever seen strode in. The one on the left had spiky brown hair over the face of an angel with lips that would make the devil beg, and the slightly taller man next to him had shaggy, dark hair that made her want to dig her fingers into it until he moaned and tilted, blue-green eyes that begged for candlelit rooms and satin sheets. She felt her breath stutter in her lungs and her face heat. “Wow,” she breathed softly and forcibly looked away as they came toward the line.

“You sure about this, Sammy?”

Leila couldn't help the little smile at hearing that the impressively tall one's name was something as sweet as 'Sammy'. She looked over and sucked in a breath when she realized he was looking at her. “Oh. Um... hi.”

“Hi.” Sammy smiled at her and nodded. “We're not cutting in line. Honest.”

Leila ducked her head and tried to remember how to speak as the other one's bottle-green eyes focused on her with a look that, coming from any other guy might have been an obnoxious leer, but coming from him, just kind of melted some of her brain. “I... no. Sure. It's... I didn't think you were.” She continued to stare as Sammy rolled his eyes and slapped his ridiculously good looking friend.

“Dean, knock it off, and it's 'Sam', jerk.”

“Didn't do nothin'.” Dean returned and gave Leila a wicked smile and a quick wink that nearly dissolved her into a panting puddle.

“You're giving her the look.” Sam-not-Sammy, turned his gaze back to her and she swallowed hard. “Ignore him. Sorry.”

Leila could only nod, dumbstruck, as they moved slowly past her and had to swallow again. Her mouth had gone dry. “Good God.” She scrubbed a hand over her face as she smiled.

“Well, not every day you see that sort of man buffet walk in a door, now is it?”

Leila groaned and covered her face with the old woman's entirely too loud voice behind her. There was no way the men hadn't heard and, sure enough, as Leila peeked out between her fingers, she saw the one named Dean turn a shameless grin back at them over his shoulder.

“Oh, my God. Please stop talking,” Leila whispered urgently to the old woman. She startled badly, letting her heavy purse fall to the floor when the doors of the bank burst open and three men with guns stormed in. She was frozen in a paroxysm of fear as screams rose up to deafen her, echoing in the vaulted lobby and the gunmen's shouts to 'hit the floor' carried over top of them. She couldn't move. Leila stood staring as the nearest robber began to turn toward her leading with the gun.

Leila grunted in surprise as she was suddenly taken to the floor and half-smothered under a heavy body. “What?” She managed at last and blinked to find Sam-not-Sammy, easing slightly off of her with Dean right next to them. Both their eyes were trained on the gunmen.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked suddenly and his sweet eyes turned down to hers heavy with concern.

Leila nodded. “I... yes. Thank you. Sorry. I'm sorry. I couldn't...”

“Don't worry about it.”

Leila nodded again as Dean reached out and squeezed her arm.

“Just keep your head down.” Sam said softly and looked back up to the armed men.

“Well, this isn't starting off well,” Dean commented softly and Leila saw the glare he aimed up at a gunman who briefly aimed his weapon at Sam before moving on. Clearly, he was protective, whatever their relationship was, and Leila figured that, given her luck, they must be gay. They were entirely too pretty together. She gave herself a mental shake…here she was in the middle of an armed bank robbery and THAT was what she was thinking about?

Leila watched two of the robbers go to the teller windows and start demanding money while the third vanished into the back, probably after the bank vault, she thought. She reached out and impulsively caught Sam's sleeve when he got to his knees.

“It's ok,” Sam told her with a quick smile and tugged his arm free.

“They'll shoot you!” Leila protested in a fierce whisper and was somewhat mollified when Dean grabbed hold of Sam and jerked him back down.

“Knock it off.” Dean said with a stern glare.

“But...”

“But nothin', Sammy. Those guys aren't just gonna let you walk back there and look for him.”

“Dean...” Sam's voice trailed off in a hiss and Leila watched in confusion as he slammed his eyes closed, groaned and wrapped both hands around his head.

“Is he alright?” Leila asked and put a hand out toward him but Dean quickly gathered Sam into his arms against him and tucked Sam's head down under his chin.

“He'll be fine.” Dean assured her but his face was anything but calm. “Your shining's got shit timing, little brother,” he whispered.

Leila's eyes widened again and now their attitudes made sense. Dean was his big brother. Of course he was. She watched Sam curl into him like a child into a parent and Dean's arm slipped protectively over the taller man's shoulders, somehow making him look smaller, younger. “What's wrong with him? Can I do anything?”

Dean's expression held both fear and irritation as he looked over at her. He glanced back at the robbers but they were thankfully focused on getting their money. He looked back down at Sam and frowned. “It's nothing. It's just... he'll be fine in a minute. Come on, Sammy. Snap out of it already. I'm right here. Sam.”

Leila watched with a wistful smile as Sam's hands slowly unclenched from around his head and he seemed to sag into his older brother. She smiled when his eyes cracked open and blearily found hers.

“Dean?” Sam's voice was rough and hoarse and he took hold of the arm crossing his chest.

“Easy. Take it easy,” Dean said softly and slowly shifted his brother until he could see Sam's face. “What'd you see?”

Sam shook his head. “He's here. Uh... vault. There's a woman.” Sam tensed and tried to push himself up. “He's gonna kill her, Dean. She's... we have to stop him!”

“Whoa, ok. Stop.”

Leila listened in confusion. It sounded like Sam was telling his brother he'd seen the future or something, but that was ridiculous of course.

“Dean, we have to save her!”

“Ok. Ok. Just... stay put.” Dean eased Sam away from him and, to Leila's surprise, closer to her. “What's your name, sweetheart?”

Leila stared for a moment and made herself answer. “Leila.”

“Leila. This here's my little brother, Sam.” Dean waited until her hands came up and caught hold of Sam's shoulder, tugging him closer to her. “Need you to keep an eye on him for a minute while I go... talk to someone.”

Leila kept her grip on Sam's shoulder and had the distinct impression from the look in Dean's eyes that she was being given a sacred trust. “I'll look after him. But --”

“Dean. No.” Sam raised his head, and Leila could see that whatever had happened to him, he was in immense pain and barely able to keep his eyes open.

Dean gave his brother and Leila a wide grin. “I'll be fine.”

Leila tugged on Sam and he toppled to the side a little into her. “Sam. Shh. It's alright.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders as his brother had done and could feel that he was trembling. She wasn't surprised when he groaned and put a hand back to his head. “I think you're supposed to lay down after a seizure.”

“No.” Sam kept his eyes on his brother, stubbornly refusing to close them and give himself any relief.

Leila watched Dean, and it was a bit like watching one of those action movies. He moved close to the floor and somehow stayed in the blind spot of the two robbers at the teller windows. They never even saw him until he was on the first. Leila gasped as Dean wrapped an arm around the first man's neck and kicked one of his knees out, dropping him to the floor. He slammed a punch into the side of the man's face that spun his head around and let him drop to the floor. He turned then in a roundhouse that would have made Jackie Chan cheer and caught the other robber in the chest. The man flew back and Dean was on him before he struck the wall, tearing his gun away and delivering another devastating punch that left the man senseless on the floor.

“Oh, my,” Leila breathed and felt some of the tension in Sam's body release only to return when Dean hefted his newly acquired gun and vanished into the back of the bank. “He'll be alright, Sam. I'm sure.”

“Damn well better be,” Sam groaned and slumped a little harder into her side.

She slid a hand into his hair, as she'd used to do for her younger sister, to offer him comfort while he waited for whatever it was Dean was doing. “It wasn't a seizure, was it?” She asked then over the rising sound of the voices of the other bank patrons as they realized that they were miraculously out of danger and started moving towards the doors.

Sam shook his head, but he didn't say anything. His eyes were on the far side of the bank where his brother had gone as though he could see through the walls if he just looked hard enough. “Come on, Dean. Please.”

Leila felt Sam jump as hard as she did when shots rang out from the back of the bank. People screamed and scattered for the doors in renewed terror, but Leila kept her place with Sam. She held on to him fiercely when he began to struggle. Dean had left him in her care, and she was, by God, not going to let him go rushing into danger when he could barely stand. She had a feeling that would not end well for her with Dean. “Sam, stop! Wait!” She wrapped both arms around him as he struggled and gasped, trying to catch his breath through his fear.

And then Dean was there. Leila looked up and saw him emerge from the back of the bank. He was half-carrying a young woman who looked dazed. She knew the moment Sam saw them because his struggles stopped and he seemed to collapse into her with the relief he felt. “There he is. He's alright, Sam. See?”

“Hey, little brother.” Dean greeted as he neared them and lowered the woman down to sit on a nearby bench before he came and knelt next to them.

Leila's heart about broke with the way Dean wrapped a caring hand around his little brother's neck and met his eyes with a gentle smile. “Saved the damsel in distress.” His eyes moved and found Leila's as he tugged Sam from her arms and into his again. “You stayed. Thank you.”

Leila nodded, in a bit of a daze herself. “Anytime.”

“Come on. Before they come looking to ask questions and crap.”

“What about...” Sam's voice trailed off.

Dean shook his head. “Didn't have a choice. I'm sorry, Sammy.”

Leila watched as Dean rose, bringing Sam with him, and the effortless way he supported his taller little brother with an arm over his shoulders and steered him toward the doors. They slipped outside amidst the mayhem of still-panicking people and officers rushing in to arrest the unconscious bank robbers.

“What... the hell just happened?” Leila asked softly of no one in particular and shook her head. She allowed a police officer to lift her from the floor and didn't argue when she was guided outside. Once on the street, she looked around and was surprised somehow that it was a bright, sunny day. Her eyes traveled beyond the flashing lights of police cruisers and the fluttering of yellow police tape and found a sleek black car just beyond them. Dean stood beside it atthe driver's side door, and, as Leila's eyes met his, he tossed her a solemn salute and then a blinding smile before he ducked in the car and closed the door.

Leila watched them pull away, thanked by no one and seeming to not mind their heroics going unheeded and she smiled. “Wow.”

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_The End._

**Next Up: Holliday1081**


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